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BANCROFT 

LIBRARY 

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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


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'''••<i«jrT»"<    -  ^-'  T-.  --5,  v 


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In  the  San  Juan 

Colorado 


SKETCHES 


By 
REV.  J.  J.  GIBBONS 


COPYRIGHT,  1898 

BY 
REV.  J.  J.  GIBBONS 


CONTENTS 


FIRST  SKETCH 

Page 

FIRST  EXPERIENCES  IN  THE  SAN  JUAN — Land  of 
mountains  and  plains — Home  of  the  Cliff -Dwell- 
ers— Mummy  apostrophized — Trip  to  Telluride 
— Youag  Canadian  falls  over  a  precipice — A^ 
flourishing  mining  camp — Silverton  in  Christ- 
mas attire — The  "Gloria  in  Excelsis" — The 
sacred  strains  in  the  midnight  air — Perilous 
night  ride.  7-25 

SECOND  SKETCH 

FUNERAL  IN  THE  ROCKIES — A  daring  and  expert 
horseman— The  cowboy  and  the  wild  broncho— 
Sensational  drilling  contest — Chattanooga's  two 
inhabitants — Sunset  on  Ophir's  range — Disaster 
befalls  a  tenderfoot — Skeleton  recalls  a  tragedy 
— "Marry  in  haste,  and  repent  at  leisure" — 
Mountains  echo  the  "Requiescant  in  pace" — 
A  sudden  storm.  26-38 

THIRD  SKETCH 

FROM  DAI/LAS  To  TELLURIDE — A  genial  stage- 
driver — A  hero  of  the  Crimea — Fatal  accident 
at  the  Sheridan — A  picturesque  canon — Dread- 
ful catastrophes— Train  of  burros — Sequel  of 
right  line  movement — Religious  services  at  Tel- 
luride— Summoned  in  haste  to  a  deathbed.  39-55 

FOURTH  SKETCH 

A  SOCIAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  CENTER — Hospitable 
family  on  the  Divide — Pastoral  scene — Excur- 
sion party  in  the  interests  of  science  and  re- 
ligion— A  few  shots  from  a  rifle  bring  relief  in 
3 


CONTENTS 

Page 

a  dilemma — Medicine  administered  at  the  point 
of  a  gun — Sick  call  to  Turkey  Creek — An  in- 
valid and  his  queer  nurse — Curiosity  punished 
— Navajo  Indian — Trout  Lake,  a  romantic  spot 
—Fifty-five  miles  in  the  saddle.  -  56-71 

FIFTH  SKETCH 

CELEBRATION  OF  A  FESTIVAL — An  unhappy  mar- 
riage— Bear  Creek  Falls  festooned  with  snow — 
The  Mother  Cline  snowslide — Ironton's  unique 
character — Hairbreadth  escape  in  a  storm — 
Racy  ballad,  ''Patrick's  Day  in  the  Morning" — 
Sick-bed  conversions — The  hospital,  from  a  mis- 
sionary standpoint.  -  72-83 

SIXTH  SKETCH 

THRILLING  INCIDENTS  OF  A  HUNTING  TRIP — 
Superior  qualities  of  the  broncho — Breakneck 
race  down  cork  screw  trail — The  deer  that  never 
came — The  Cascade  of  Ouray — Mountain  scen- 
ery at  its  best — The  bear  and  the  prospectors — 
"The  burnt  child  dreads  the  fire" — The  moun- 
tain lion — The  Snowslide  in  verse  —Perplexing 
situation — The  welcome  stream — Home  again.  84-103 

SEVENTH  SKETCH 

A  DEVOTED  MOTHER  IN  ADVERSITY — A  captain 
meets  reverses  of  fortune — Sad  deathbed  scene — 
Manual  and  Industrial  training  of  the  young — 
Education  in  the  right  line — Solemn  religious 
service  at  early  morn — By  the  Hermosa — A 
red-haired  stranger — A  "friend  in  need  is  a 
friend  indeed" — Strange  chorus  in  a  storm — 
Verses  on  the  burro,  "He's  a  bird — a  true 
canary."  -  - 

EIGHTH  SKETCH 

THE  BLASPHEMER'S  FATE — Some  of  Ouray's 
sociable  characters — Life  above  timber  line — 
Appalling  misfortune — Prince,  the  beautiful  set- 
ter— Faithful  friends  lost  in  an  avalanche — 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Edifying  death  of  a  miner — Told  in  verses  by  a 
local  poet.  -     120-137 

"Only  the  Actions  of  the  Just, 
Smell  sweet  and  blossom  in  the  dust." 

NINTH  SKETCH 

BANEFUL  EFFECTS  OF  INTEMPERANCE— John, 
the  soldier— Spending  a  fortune—  '  'Nothing 
heavenly  in  the  miser" — A  prgmising  career 
ruined  by  drink — Reflections  upon  the  evils  of  in- 
temperance— Triumph  of  grace — Reconciliation 
— "All's  well  that  ends  well."  -  138-153 

TENTH  SKETCH 

TEN  DAYS  ON  A  SICK  CALL— Old  Gray,  the  horse 
with  one  ear — On  a  hogback — Dolores  and  the 
early  missionaries — Attending  a  sick  man  under 
difficulties — A  tidy  bachelor's  hall — Dies  on  his 
way  to  the  lowlands — How  funeral  expenses 
were  defrayed — A  mail  carrier,  faithful  in  death 
— Ingenious  use  made  of  an  ulster.  154-166 

ELEVENTH  SKETCH 

VIRTUE,  THE  ONLY  NOBILITY— The  boys  of  Done- 
gal— Pleasant  companions  on  a  stagecoach — 
Rico's  second  boom— Telluride's  bank  robbery 
— Sheriff's  posse  in  pursuit  of  robbers — Baptism 
at  the  Springs — Weird  scene  at  early  dawn — 
Death's  lesson.  -  167-182 

TWELFTH  SKETCH 

COLORADO  AMONG  THE  STATES — Her  people  and 
her  resources — San  Juan's  future — A  great  city 
of  the  southwest — "Fountain  of  Perpetual 
Youth" — Las  Animas  canon — Sublime  scenery 
— How  a  mine  is  worked — A  miner's  mode  of  * 
living — His  intelligence — A  land  "where  the 
peach  and  apple  grow" — Ouray,  the  Pic- 
turesque. .  -  183-194 


PRESS  OF 

CALUMET  BOOK  &  ENGRAVING  Co. 

168  S.  Clinton  Street, 

CHICAGO. 


FIRST  SKETCH 

IN  August,  1888,  I  received  my  appointment 
to  the  parish  of  Ouray,  which  included  pretty 

nearly  the  whole  of  the  San  Juan  country, 
the  scene  of  these  sketches.  San  Juan  is  the 
familiar  designation  of  southwestern  Colorado. 
Bounded  on  the  north  by  rugged  ranges,  on  the 
south  by  New  Mexico,  on  the  east  by  the  Gun- 
nison  district  and  on  the  west  by  Utah's  Blue 
mountains;  it  is  a  mountainous  country,  diver- 
sified by  rolling  uplands,  smiling  valleys,  darkling 
glens  and  rushing  streams. 

When,  as  a  traveler  from  the  east  and  on 
my  way  to  Colorado  to  enter  upon  my  duties  as 
a  priest  of  the  diocese  of  Denver,  the  Rocky 
mountains  burst  on  my  vision,  Pike's  Peak  ap- 
peared like  a  sentinel  at  the  gateway  of  a  new 
world.  For  the  flat  plains  which  mark  a 
thousand  miles'  travel  from  the  Missouri,  I  beheld 
scenes  of  inspiring  grandeur.  My  fancy  pictured 
the  condition  of  a  society  where  cities  and  towns 
lie  in  the  clouds,  and  people  live  in  the  presence  of 
perpetual  snow  and  cutting  frosts  that  penetrate 
the  earth  to  a  depth  of  six  or  seven  feet.  I  had 
read  of  mines,  sunk  thousands  of  feet  into  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  and  of  railroads  overhang- 
ing dizzy  abysses.  I  had  not  been  long  in  this 
wonderland,  however,  when  I  got  some  inkling 
of  the  kind  of  life  men  live  at  this  great  altitude, 
for  I  experienced  the  pleasures  of  a  renewed 
vitality  and  the  clearness  of  a  quickened  brain. 
"L,and  of  illusions  and  magnificent  distances/' 
cries  the  newcomer  —  where  the  atmosphere  is 
so  rare  that  to  visit  before  breakfast  the  foot- 

7 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

hills,  twenty  miles  from  Denver,  seems  nothing 
extraordinary,  and  where,  upon  mountain  loops, 
the  railroad  passenger  of  the  rear  car  may  well  be 
tempted  to  light  his  cigar  at  the  headlight  of  the 
locomotive. 

From  the  time  of  my  arrival  in  Colorado,  I 
was  engaged  in  pastoral  work  at  Georgetown 
and  Leadville,  until  I  was  sent  to  my  southwest- 
ern mission.  It  was  an  extensive  one,  covering  a 
territory  perhaps  as  large  as  the  whole  of  Ire- 
land. It  was  not  uncommon  to  be  summoned 
day  or  night  to  sick  calls,  involving  trips  of 
150  miles. 

The  aboriginal  inhabitants  of  this  country, 
the  ClifF-Dwellers,  belong  to  a  race  of  men  who 
built  houses  of  solid  masonry,  or  chiseled  caves 
in  cliffs,  that  seemed  unapproachable.  When 
Coronado,  350  years  ago,  explored  New  Mexico 
and  the  great  region  which  contained  my  new 
charge,  he  discovered  towns  with  populations 
varying  from  10,000  to  40,000.  The  people 
tilled  the'  soil,  built  adobe  houses  as  well  as 
more  pretentious  structures  of  cut  stone,  raised 
cotton  and  made  their  own  clothes;  they  owned 
large  herds  of  cattle,  and  the  rich  valleys  bore 
maize  and  vegetables  of  many  kinds.  Being 
virtuous,  they  were  happy,  they  kept  the  natural 
law  and  paid  religious  homage  to  the  sun  from 
their  round  towers  at  early  dawn.  To  those 
simple  children  of  nature,  the  orb  of  day, 
which  is  the  light-giver  and  the  heat-bringer, 
was  the  chief  object  of  adoration,  and  in  their 
bountiful  harvests  they  recognized  his  secondary 
action  under  Providence.  They  were,  to  be  sure, 
ignorant  of  the  true  God;  but  their  idolatry  was 
pure  and  intellectual,  compared  with  the  gross 

8 


THE 


FIRST  EXPERIENCES 

worship  of  nations  that  adored  crocodiles,  leeks 
and  onions.  Like  the  Persians  they  were  fire- 
worshipers,  and  therefore  elevated  in  their 
aspirations.  Were  they  of  Celtic  origin  ?  Perhaps 
they  were;  I  do  not  think  the  most  rabid  ad- 
vocate of  an  alliance,  offensive  and  defensive,  be- 
tween Uncle  Sam  and  John  Bull,  would  claim 
that  they  were  Anglo-Saxons.  Did  they  coniefrom 
Egypt,  the  land  of  some  lost  arts  ?  They  were  a 
people  of  culture;  for  their  pottery,  architecture, 
agriculture,  argue  considerable  progress  in  the 
arts  and  sciences.  Their  origin  and  history 
being  veiled  by  the  twilight  of  fable,  it  is  not  easy 
to  say  anything  definite  about  them;  but  that 
they  practised  cremation  is  evident  from  the  fact 
that  charcoal  iin  abundance  has  been  found  in 
their  graves.  It  is  certain  that  they  wrapped 
their  dead  in  well-woven  garments  and  deposited 
the  bodies  in  caves  or  tombs  set  apart  for  that 
purpose.  Several  well-preserved  skeletons  have 
been  discovered,  still  clad  in  their  burial  robes, 
the  skin  dried  and  shrunken  upon  the  bones,  but 
retaining  the  natural  features,  thus  furnishing 
some  clue  to  the  past  of  a  wonderful  race.  In- 
deed, the  lineaments  of  the  face,  the  flowing 
black  hair,  the  long  sharp  nose,  the  desiccated 
body  suggest  the  mummy,  which  let  me,  a  la  Poe, 
interrogate: 

Say,  mummy  grim,  tell  me  I  pray, 
From  what  mysterious  land  you  came  ? 
Was  it  from  where  fair  Eden  lay, 
And  Eve  acquir'd  her  hapless  fame  ? 
Your  very  face  denies  disguise, 
And  plainly  tells  of  Afric's  skies; 
Your  straight  black  hair  and  olive  hue 
Bespeak  your  race. — Th'  Egytian  Jew? 
Your  forehead's  high,  your  face  is  clean, 
9 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

Your  caste's  proclaimed  in  princely  mien, 
The  home-spun  round  your  limbs  made  fast 
Suggest  your  culture  to  the  last. 
I  ask  not  for  your  royal  name: 
But  tell  me,  prithee,  whence  you  came  ? 
Was  it  in  Noah's  ark  you  went, 
And  viewed  the  rainbow,  Heaven-sent; 
Dreading  storms  on  Ararat  bleak, 
True  comfort  here  you  came  to  seek, 
And  high  in  cliffs,  from  perils  free, 
You  built  those  houses  we  now  see  ? 
Your  pitchers  bright  may  still  be  seen, 
Artistic,  tipped  with  glowing  sheen; 
The  pots  remain,  the  kettles  too, 
The  race  is  gone,  but  who  are  you  ? 
Did  you  go  forth  from  Abram's  band, 
When  God  spoke  of  the  promised  land  ? 
Or  o'er  the  sea  'neath  pillar's  light, 
When  Moses  saved  from  Pharaoh's  might? 
The  manna,  quails,  the  serpent's  bite 
Are  facts  historic  in  your  sight. 
I  crave  thee,  tell  us  of  your  past, 
For  we're  a  nation  living  fast; 
We  thirst  to  know  the  how,  the  when, 
The  why,  the  that,  the  thus,  the  then. 
Perhaps  you're  of  a  later  age, 
I'll  jog  your  mem'ry  with  a  page. 
Did  you  e'er  hear  of  Christ,  the  King 
Of  whom  seers  speak  and  angels  sing, 
Beth'lem's  stable,  the  winter's  night, 
The  shepherds'  vision,  Joseph's  flight, 
How  water  blushed  e'en  as  he  willed, 
The  loaves  increased,  the  storm  stilled, 
The  sick  were  healed,  the  demons  fled 
And  men  arose  that  erst  were  dead; 
How  for  mankind  His  love  to  show 
He  suffered  death,  its  pain  and  woe  ? 
Twenty  of  centuries — long  space — 
Have  changed  in  much  the  human  race, 
While  kingdoms,  empires,  rose  and  fell, 
Writ  in  sanguine  hues,  hist'ries  tell. 
Years  gone  by,  your  mist-wrapped  land 
Columbus  viewed,  with  cross  in  hand; 
From  Manco's  plains  and  canons  deep 
Came  Francis'  sons  with  you  to  weep. 
10 


FIRST  EXPERIENCES 

They  found  not  man.     On  shelving  rock, 
Your  doors  were  hingeless,  broke  the  lock, 
The  corn  untouched,  the  embers  black, 
Sole  relics  of  your  nation's  track. 
This  land  espied  on  western  wave 
Is  now  the  fair  home  of  the  brave, 
Whom  despot  rulers  could  not  hold, 
Here  live  in  bliss  like  kings  of  old, 
Serve  the  true  God,  enjoy  their  days 
Compete  in  art  and  social  ways. 
Nature's  dim  veil  they've  deftly  rent 
And  heaven's  fire  to  uses  bent; 
The  facile  'phone  with  ready  sound 
Conveys  the  news  the  country  round, 
The  stately  bike  dots  road  and  glen 
Where  women  ride  the  same  as  men; 
The  phonograph,  artistic  scheme, 
Keeps  the  speech  of  an  ancient  theme. 
Had  your  ancestors  saved  its  din, 
We'd  have  your  story,  kith  and  kin; 
We  might  describe  your  early  fate, 
Learn  the  myst'ries  of  Behrings  strait. 
No  answer  make  you,  nought  you'll  tell, 
Good  bye,  queer  mummy — fare  thee  well. 

In  my  new  parish  there  were  only  two 
churches,  one  at  Ouray,  the  other  at  Silverton, 
twenty-seven  miles  distant.  There  were  twenty 
missions  or  stations,  with  new  ones  springing 
up,  as  mines  were  discovered,  saw  mills  put  up, 
or  families  settled  on  the  mesas,  west  of  the  San 
Miguel  river.  Having  assumed  my  charge  in 
the  latter  part  of  summer,  I  had  ample  time  to 
visit  all  the  stations  before  the  winter  set  in. 
Tom  Knowles,  who  kept  a  hotel  at  Ouray,  paid 
me  a  ceremonious  call  on  my  arrival,  and  invited 
me  to  take  a  horse  and  saddle  whenever  I 
wished.  It  was  a  liberal  act,  for  hay  was  worth 
from  eighteen  to  twenty  dollars  a  ton,  and  grain 
was  always  high.  I  availed  myself  of  his  kind 
invitation.  My  first  trip  was  to  Telluride,  and 
11 


IN    THE    SAN   JUAN 

my  mission  was  to  baptize  a  descendant  of 
Kosciusko  and  Brian  Boru,  a  young  Margowski. 
The  roads  were  good,  and  the  most  squeamish 
could  make  the  trip  without  special  risk  of  life 
or  limb,  save  on  the  top  of  the  pass  at 
an  elevation  of  13,000  feet.  Here,  for  300 
yards  you  were  compelled  to  take  a  trail 
that  was  always  slippery  from  the  constantly 
thawing  snow,  which  fell  nearly  every  time  there 
was  a  storm.  The  snow,  however,  remained  in 
the  shady  crannies  of  the  rocks,  melted  during 
the  day,  and  trickling  down  the  narrow  path, 
froze  at  night.  Along  the  left  of  the  trail  'was  a 
steep  precipice,  and  I  noticed  far  down  on  a  plain 
of  rock  several  dead  horses;  but  at  the  time  I 
never  thought  of  horses  falling  and  rolling  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  over  the  rocks.  In  going  up 
the  narrow  trail  my  horse  came  to  his  knees  sev- 
eral times,  and,  feeling  unsafe,  I  dismounted  and 
walked  up  the  way  leading  to  the  pass.  The 
trip  to  Telluride  was  made  without  an  accident, 
but  on  my  return  about  two  inches  of  snow 
covered  the  ice  on  the  pass.  My  horse's  shoes 
were  not  sharp,  and  he  fell  before  we  had  de- 
scended the  mountain  twenty-five  yards.  For 
ten  minutes  I  paused  to  consider  what  course  I 
should  take.  I  concluded  that  I  could  not  fol- 
low the  trail,  so  I  went  down  the  side  of  the 
mountain,  led  my  horse,  and  took  chances. 
Scarcely  had  I  turned  from  the  trail  five  yards 
when  a  mass  of  snow,  ice,  mud  and  loose  rock 
began  to  move  down  the  mountain,  and  we 
moved  with  it.  It  was  a  sort  of  locomotion  we 
had  not  bargained  for,  and  the  situation  was  such 
as  to  make  the  horse  tremble  with  fear  and  great- 
ly disturb  me.  At  last,  with  much  watchfulness 
12 


FIRST  EXPERIENCES 

and  care  in  keeping  our  feet,  we  arrived  safe  on 
the  rocky  plateau  below.  A  young  man  who,  I 
subsequently  learned,  was  from  Connecticut,  was 
just  coming  up  the  trail  on  his  way  to  Telluride. 
He  asked  me  about  the  trail,  as  it  was  barely 
visible  over  the  broken  rocks.  I  informed  him 
that  unless  his  horse  was  well  shod  and  the  shoes 
sharp,  it  would  be  the  height  of  folly  to  con- 
tinue his  journey,  but  the  stranger  would  make 
the  attempt.  I  went  on;  and,  as  I  was  on  the 
point  of  crossing  the  ridge  of  rocks  that  separates 
the  Virginius  mine  from  the  pass,  I  looked  back 
and  saw  the  young  man  close  to  the  top  of,  the 
range,  making  slow  progress.  The  horse  was 
slipping,  and  I  sat  upon  a  rock  to  watch  develop- 
ments. When  within  ten  yards  of  the  pass  the 
horse  fell,  rolled  off  the  trail  and  shot  down  the 
mountain  like  a  rocket.  The  young  man  threw 
up  his  hands  in  terror  and  it  was  well  for  him 
that  he  was  not  in  the  saddle  at  the  time.  The 
horse  must  have  tumbled  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
among  the  jagged  rocks,  and  I  presume  every 
bone  in  his  body  was  broken.  I  continued  my 
journey,  having  learned  a  useful  lesson,  never  to 
ride  a  poor  horse,  or  one  not  properly  shod. 

The  success  of  my  first  year  in  the  San  Juan 
would  have  been  greater,  had  the  conditions  of 
the  parish  been  more  favorable  to  harmonious 
action.  Misunderstandings  will  arise  in  the  best 
regulated  societies,  and  to  realize  to  fruitful  pur- 
pose the  divine  constitution  of  the  church,  which 
distinguishes  the  teaching  from  the  hearing  ele- 
ment, needs  a  good  will  more  than  scholastic  ac- 
quirements. As  order,  which  is  heaven's  first 
law,  requires  this  distinction,  it  follows  that 
when  the  subject  undertakes  to  teach  the  su- 

18 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

perior  how  to  discharge  his  duties,  nothing  but 
confusion  prevails.  "But  heresies  must  be  that 
the  approved  maybe  made  manifest/' 

It  had  been  snowing  for  three  days  before 
Christmas,  and  crossing  the  range  was  no 
holiday  pastime;  but  as  Silverton  was  in  my 
jurisdiction,  I  resolved  to  brave  the  danger,  say 
the  midnight  mass  there  on  Christmas  night,  and 
on  horseback  return  to  Ouray,  where  I  intended 
to  say  two  masses  on  Christmas  day,  which  hap- 
pened that  year  to  fall  on  Tuesday.  Accordingly, 
I  left  the  previous  Saturday  for  Silverton,  where 
I  said  mass  on  Sunday.  I  had  arranged  with  a 
gentleman,  named  Fred  Thornton,  that  he  was 
to  come  over  on  Christmas  eve  with  two  horses 
from  Ouray,  not  only  to  test  the  trail,  but  to 
consider  the  feasibility  of  our  returning  after  the 
midnight  mass,  for,  as  there  was  no  night  stage 
running  between  the  two  towns,  I  should  be 
obliged  to  return  on  horseback.  Fred  was  an 
expert  horseman  and  an  old  mountaineer.  I 
discovered  after  his  death  that  he  had  a  history 
of  his  own,  as  well  as  another  name.  He  had 
been  in  the  regular  service  in  the  Far  West.  One 
day  while  with  a  companion  watching  the  horses 
and  mules  some  distance  from  camp,  the  Indians 
swooped  down  upon  them.  The  boys  sprang  to 
their  horses  and  made  good  their  escape  for  a 
long  distance;  Fred  had  the  better  horse  and  out- 
ran his  companion,  whom  the  Indians  overtook 
and  killed  not  far  from  camp.  Fred  rode  in  and 
gave  the  alarm,  having  left  his  companion  to  die 
alone.  The  soldiers  regarded  this  as  an  act  of 
cowardice  in  Fred  and  despised  him.  Fred  often 
spoke  to  me  of  his  hairbreadth  escape  and 
claimed  that  he  too  would  have  been  killed  had 


FIRST   EXPERIENCES 

he  attempted  to  make  a  stand.  He  concluded 
that  discretion  was  the  better  part  of  valor  and 
saved  himself.  It  was  after  Fred's  death,  which 
happened  a  year  later,  that  I  learned  his  real 
name  was  not  Thornton,  and  the  probability  is 
that  one  bright  morning  he  bade  Uncle  Sam  good- 
bye. Fred  was  no  coward;  several  bullet  marks 
in  his  body,  received  in  actual  combat  with  the 
Sioux  and  Commanche  Indians,  attested  his 
valor.  Of  a  good  family,  fine  personal  appear- 
ance, gentlemanly  deportment,  religious  tem- 
perament, moreover,  a  capital  shot,  Fred  was 
born  to  command. 

I  made  the  trip  to  Silverton  on  Saturday  morn- 
ing in  the  usual  way  by  stage  without  any  more 
serious  inconvenience  than  that  of  finding  my- 
self obliged  to  shovel  snow,  open  the  road  and 
help  drag  out  the  horses  from  the  high  drifts. 
Napoleon's  trip  across  the  Alps  may  be  con- 
sidered pleasant  when  compared  with  the  fatigue 
and  perils  of  a  journey  away  up  in  the  clouds 
during  one  of  the  fierce  storms  which  sweep 
through  the  canons.  At  times  it  is  hard  to  tell 
which  way  the  wind  blows;  it  comes  at  once  from 
all  points  and  so  thick  is  the  fine  sifted  snow 
that  you  are  almost  blinded.  Besides,  midway 
down  in  the  canon  on  the  narrow  road  drilled  in 
the  side  of  the  mountain  out  of  the  solid  rock, 
with  2,000  feet  of  giddy  heights  above  and  a 
depth  of  3,000  feet  below,  the  mind  is  filled  with 
consternation  and  dismay  at  the  boding  terrors 
around.  But  though  the  arrows  of  death  fell 
around  me,  I  was  safe;  for  the  Lord  was  my 
helper.  The  novice  is  so  alarmed  at  the  sight 
of  the  abysses  around  him  that  even  in  the  sum- 
mer, when  the  roads  are  good  and  danger  is  re- 

15 


IN    THE    SAN   JUAN 

mote,  he  alights  from  the  coach  and  prefers  to 
walk,  not  trusting  himself  to  the  best  vehicle  and 
driver.  The  scenery  baffles  description — sublime 
and  awful  alone  can  describe  it.  In  the  winter 
only  old  stagers  and  people  habituated  to  moun- 
tain travel  will  essay  the  road.  A  false  step,  a 
small  snowslide,  and  an  act  of  contrition  is  in 
order. 

There  was  much  travel  in  those  days,  as  the 
mines  at,  and  in  the  vicinity  of,  Red  Mountain 
were  producing  much  ore;  and,  besides,  the  boys 
often  came  down  to  the  metropolis  of  the  San 
Juan  to  enjoy  its  famous  baths  and  get  a  box  of 
Doctor  Rowan' s  pills.  This  worthy  son  of  .ZEjscula- 
pius  had  a  specific  for  all  diseases  under  the  sun 
and  threatened  to  send  every  one  who  did  not 
use  his  spring  medicines,  about  the  time  the 
ground-hog  showed  himself,  to  Rowan's  ranch, 
which  in  local  parlance  meant  the  graveyard. 
Two  of  the  boys  came  down  one  day  and,  it  is 
said,  indulged  over-much  at  a  resort  of  unsavory 
reputation.  Late  in  the  evening  they  left  for 
Ironton,  but  one  of  them  never  arrived  there. 
The  road  follows  the  circuitous  canon  and  it  tested 
all  the  genius  of  Otto  Mears,  the  pathmaker  of  the 
West,  to  construct  it;  it  went  east  and  it  went 
west,  it  twisted  and  turned  and  boxed  the  com- 
pass, and  on  a  dark  night  it  would  perplex  the 
most  wide-awake  traveler  to  know  what  to  do  on 
this  road.  The  two  young  men  walked  together 
for  some  time;  soon  one,  a  Canadian,  began  to 
lag  behind,  so  the  other  pushed  on  and  left  his 
companion.  The  latter,  in  rounding  one  of  the 
points,  forgot  to  make  the  necessary  turn  and 
walked  deliberately  over  one  of  the  most  awful 
precipices  in  the  Rockies.  Where  he  struck  the 

16 


FIRST  EXPERIENCES 

first  protruding  rock  must  have  been  1,500  feet 
below,  and  his  swift  flight  downward  was  traced 
by  shreds  of  his  clothing;  nor  did  he  stop  there,  but 
on,  down  the  dreadful  abyss  he  shot,  striking 
here  and  there,  bounding  from  rock  to  rock, 
until  at  last  in  a  direct  sweep  of  a  thousand  feet  he 
was  dashed  into  the  creek  below.  Was  he  killed  ? 
I  should  think  so;  not  a  bone  in  his  body  was 
left  unbroken,  and  the  very  boots  were  torn  from 
his  feet.  The  naked  eye  could  not  discern  him 
from  the  road  at  that  depth,  where  he  lay  for 
days  until  men  came  down  from  the  mine  to  hunt 
him  up.  After  a  long  search  they  discovered 
the  mangled  form,  which  they  decently  buried 
at  the  Ouray  cemetery. 

There  are  some  remarkable  instances  in  the 
traditional  history  of  Ouray  which  show  that  a 
man  may  fall  a  great  distance  into  a  canon  and 
not  be  killed.  For  one  such  exception  at  least 
I  can  vouch.  For  two  years  as  I  went  up  and 
down  the  road  I  saw  the  remains  of  the  wreck 
lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  canon,  and  there  is 
every  reason  to  believe  that  some  of  the  sleigh 
box  is  still  there.  The  accident  happened  to  two 
miners  whose  names  I  have  forgotten.  They 
had  been  at  Ouray  over  night,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing left  for  Red  Mountain  on  King's  stage  with 
Ike  Stephens  as  driver,  as  good  a  Jehu  as  ever 
cracked  a  whip  over  a  six-horse  coach.  Ike  was 
a  *  'peach' '  and  would  stay  with  the  horses  to  the 
last.  It  had  been  snowing  a  little,  but  it  was  a 
pretty  fair  morning  when  Ike  pulled  out  for  Red 
Mountain,  with  a  big  load  of  eggs  and  general 
merchandise,  and  for  his  live  freight,  the  two 
miners  who  made  up  their  minds  not  to  go  home 
until  morning.  They  occupied  the  back  seat  in 

17 


IN    THE    SAN   JUAN 

the  sleigh.  Just  as  they  were  rounding  the  last 
dangerous  point  before  coming  by  the  numerous 
small  slides  that  always  came  down  when  it 
stormed,  the  accident  to  which  I  refer  occurred. 
On  the  cliff  above  there  were  two  spires  of  rock 
that  shot  up  for  many  feet.  The  snow  drifted  in 
between  these  and  down  upon  the  road,  forming 
a  high  bank,  over  which  Ike  had  the  temerity 
to  drive.  The  consequence  was  that  when  the 
sleigh  went  down  over  the  ridge  of  snow,  the 
box  came  from  between  the  sleigh  stakes  and 
started  over  the  precipice,  the  horses  plunged 
forward,  Ike  held  on  to  the  reins  and  the  now 
frightened  leaders  drew  him  out  of  the  box,  but 
the  miners,  the  eggs  and  dead  pigs,  together 
with  a  large  amount  of  merchandise,  went  over 
and  fell  nearly  a  straight  250  feet.  Strange  to 
say  not  a  bone  was  broken;  the  two  men  escaped 
with  a  few  scratches  and  a  big  scare,  but  the  box 
was  in  flitters.  It  was  no  smooth  slide — it  was  a 
sheer  fall  straight  down  until  they  came  within 
twenty  feet  of  the  bottom,  and  then  a  tumble  of 
about  the  same  distance  into  the  creek.  The 
miners  were  in  an  india-rubber  condition  when 
they  realized  where  they  were  and  resolved  the 
next  time  to  go  home  before  regular  bed  time. 
I  had  a  little  personal  experience,  coming  down 
the  same  road  from  Ironton.  To  the  left  are  two 
little  lakes.  Old  Joe  was  the  driver  and  could 
handle  four  horses  as  well  as  any  man  on  the 
line.  He  had  a  soft  spot  in  his  heart  for  me  and 
always  tried  to  make  me  as  comfortable  as  pos- 
sible. The  driver's  seat  was  a  coveted  place;  un- 
less some  drummer  from  Denver  monopolized  it 
very  early  in  the  morning,  old  Joe  to  all  inquiries 
would  reply  "this  seat  is  taken, "  for  he  knew  my 

18 


FIRST  EXPERIENCES 

day  to  go  out.  We  left  at  the  usual  time  for 
Ironton,  whither  I  was  bound,  to  see  after  the 
building  of  a  church.  On  the  return  trip  a  large 
excursion  party  was  making  the  circle  and  there 
were  many  passengers  from  New  York  and  Bos- 
ton. Joe  had  a  light  stage  and  the  two  wheel 
horses  of  the  Concord  coach  attached  to  it.  I 
sat  by  his  side  and  we  were  enjoying  the  grand 
scenery  when  the  nigh  horse  shied  at  a  piece  of 
wood  in  the  roadway.  The  horse,  which  was  a 
powerful  animal,  crowded  his  mate  over  to  the 
edge  of  the  bank  in  spite  of  Joe's  hard  pulling. 
I  reached  out  my  right  hand,  caught  the  lines 
and  drew  the  horse's  head  back  to  the  harness 
saddle;  it  was  too  late,  we  were  gone.  The  stage 
turned  completely  over  and  slid  down  the  em- 
bankment through  the  brushwood  and  rock. 
The  horses  fell  and  tumbled  over  and  over,  I 
held  on  to  one  rein  and  Joe  to  the  other,  a  lady 
screamed  and  a  gentleman  from  the  Hub  lost  his 
hat,  exhibiting  a  bare  head  that  would  provoke 
an  Irishman's  shillelah  on  a  fair  day  in  Ireland. 
The  spring  seat  seemed  to  catch  the  inspiration, 
for  it  struck  him  fair  on  the  exposed  part  and 
opened  the  scalp  fully  four  inches.  I  fared  no 
better,  for  the  tire  on  the  wheel  struck  me  below 
the  knee,  fracturing  the  bone  and  scraping  me  to 
the  ankle.  The  horses  tried  to  walk  over  us, 
but  crippled  though  we  were,  we  managed  to 
control  the  animals  and  get  the  wagon  on  the 
road.  We  were  happy  to  reach  Ouray  alive.  In 
compensation  for  the  accident,  the  stage  owners 
politely  furnished  me  with  a  pass  over  the  road. 
Those  days  are  gone,  and  their  associations  of 
mingled  pleasure  and  pain,  but  the  pass  still  re- 
mains. I  had  many  thrilling  experiences  on 

19 


IN    THE    SAN   JUAN 

these  perilous  roads,  but  I  passed  through  the 
ordeal  unscathed  and  with  an  increase  of  valu- 
able knowledge.  The  missionary  has  many 
sources  of  consolation,  when  he  observes  in  the 
scene  of  his  labors  the  wondrous  operations  of 
grace  as  well  as  nature.  While  his  labors  are 
many,  the  balance  in  the  comparison  of  his 
vocation  with  that  of  other  men  is  in  his  favor. 
Even  here  below  he  enjoys  blessings  a  hundred 
fold,  and  he  has  the  promise  of  a  special  crown  in 
the  future  to  nerve  him  in  the  battle  of  the  pres- 
ent life. 

We  arrived  about  one  o'clock  at  Silverton, 
very  little  worse  for  a  rather  exciting  trip.  Dur- 
ing the  afternoon  I  called  upon  most  of  the  fam- 
ilies in  town,  and  notified  them  that  on  Sunday 
we  should  have  not  only  mass,  but  benediction  of 
the  Blessed  Sacrament  and  a  Christmas  mid- 
night mass.  Mrs.  Prosser  had  charge  of  the 
choir  and  was  a  musician  of  no  mean  degree. 
A  convert,  intelligent,  pious  and  charitable,  she 
was  active  in  promoting  Catholicity  in  that  min- 
ing camp.  The  Silverton  church  workers  were 
second  to  none  in  the  state,  and,  strange  to  say, 
were  nearly  all  women.  Practical  woman  suf- 
frage was  in  wholesome  operatioil  there  long" 
before  it  was  embodied  in  the  legislation  of  the 
state.  The  women  attended  not  only  to  the 
proper  duties  of  the  altar  society,  but  in  no  small 
measure  to  the  financial  affairs  of  the  church. 
Fairs  and  balls  were  organized  and  managed  by 
them,  the  tickets  were  sold,  the  collections  made 
and  the  money  put  in  the  bank  to  the  credit  of 
the  church.  I  am  happy  to  know  that  their  zeal 
has  not  abated,  for  word  comes  still  that  they 
are  *  not  weary  of  well  doing.  I  said  that  the 

20 


FIRST  EXPERIENCES 

church  workers  were,  strange  to  say , nearly  all  wo- 
men, for  I  do  not  forget  that  representative  Catholic 
gentleman  at  Silverton,  Barney  O'Driscoll.  Who 
does  not  know  Barney  O'Driscoll  of  the  San 
Juan  ?  Who  has  not  heard  of  him  in  the  state  of 
Colorado  ?  Honored  by  his  district  with  a  seat 
in  the  councils  of  his  state,  Barney  has  always 
worked  for  the  best  interests  of  his  constituents. 
Familiarly  styled  the  colonel,  he  is  known  of  all 
men.  A  military  man  as  well  as  a  lawyer,  he 
served  in  the  Civil  war,  after  which  he  drifted 
with  hundreds  of  others  into  the  San  Juan.  He 
has  lectured  in  most  of  the  towns  of  the  south- 
west on  politics,  the  Bible  and  science,  mineral- 
ogy and  all  the  live  subjects  of  the  day.  Until 
his  grandchildren  grew  to  a  sufficient  size  to  wait 
on  the  altar,  the  colonel  served  mass  every  Sun- 
day, and  as  long  as  he  was  around  the  camp  the 
priest  did  not  shovel  snow  from  the  church  door, 
or  build  afire  when  the  thermometer  was  twenty- 
five  below  zero.  Upon  my  arrival  at  Silverton 
the  colonel  sought  me  out  at  once  and  looked 
upon  it  as  a  crime  if  I  remained  at  the  hotel. 
He  loved  to  treat  me  with  the  best  southern 
hospitality,  and  ransacked  the  butcher  shop  for 
the  tenderest  of  the  toughest  Kansas  chickens 
and  the  freshest  of  the  stalest  Kansas  eggs,  which 
found  their  way  into  the  mountain  camps.  If  I 
was  not  at  the  colonel's  I  could  be  found  at 
Lonergans',  Cramers',  Higgins',  Prossers';  in- 
deed, the  people  of  Silverton  felt  deeply  offended, 
if  I  declined  their  hospitality. 

On  this  particular  Sunday  before  Christmas, 

the  colonel  waited,  as  was  his  wont,  after  mass 

to  escort  me  to  his  log  cabin,  which  stood  some 

distance  from  the  church,  at  the  base  of  a  moun- 

21 


IN    TH3    SAN  JUAN 

tain  that  towers  on  the  north  far  above  the  little 
city,  which  nestles  in  its  shelter.  The  lofty 
peaks  were  hidden  in  clouds,  dense  mists  swept 
over  them  now  and  again,  and  streaks  of  light 
illuminating  the  darkness,  revealed  the  shifting 
storm,  which  was  raging  on  the  summit  of  the 
mountain.  The  colonel  shook  his  head  and  said: 
''You  will  have  a  hard  trip  across  the  range  to- 
morrow night. ' '  A  good  dinner  at  his  hospitable 
board  caused  me  to  forget  the  pangs  of  a  long 
fast  and  the  thought  of  impending  dangers.  At 
three  o'clock,  on  returning  to  the  church,  we 
found  that  it  had  narrowly  escaped  destruction  in 
our  absence.  The  candle  which  I  had  left  burn- 
ing before  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  emitted  a  spark 
which  set  the  altar  cloth  on  fire,  and  the  fire 
went  out  just  when  the  cloth  was  burned  from 
the  epistle  side  to  the  front  of  the  tabernacle. 
The  colonel  was  in  favor  of  pronouncing  it  a 
miracle,  but  at  all  events,  the  church  was  safe 
and  we  felt  happy. 

Little  Joe,  the  colonel's  nephew,  then  saddled 
his  famous  burro,  and  fetched  two  large  loads  of 
green  spruce  and  pine  for  the  Christmas  night 
decoration.  The  next  day  every  one  helped  to 
beautify  the  altar  and  the  church.  Boughs  of 
green  were  conspicuous  everywhere.  With  the 
paper  roses  that  had  been  made  by  the  ladies  of 
the  altar  society  we  decked  the  pine — strange  it 
was  to  see  American  beauties  on  pine  trees,  but 
the  simple  artists  thought  the  effect  was  good 
and  there  were  no  others  to  be  satisfied.  About 
five  in  the  afternoon  'Fred  Thornton  arrived 
from  Ouray  with  the  horses,  which  wre  were  to 
ride  back  after  midnight  mass.  His  report  on 
the  condition  of  the  trail  was  discouraging.  It 

22 


FIRST  EXPERIENCES 

was  heavy,  in  part  filled,  and  the  mountains  so 
much  covered  with  snow,  that  snowslides  might 
come  down  at  any  minute.  I  spent  the  evening 
hearing  confessions,  instructing  the  children  and 
at  intervals  watching  the  finishing  touches  that 
were  given  to  the  altar.  At  twelve  o'clock  the 
church  was  filled  to  the  doors  with  Protestants 
as  well  as  Catholics.  It  is  customary  for  the 
miner  to  come  to  town  at  least  three  times  a 
year,  at  Christmas,  Easter  tide  and  on  the 
Fourth  of  July,  and  if  he  is  a  practical  Cath- 
olic, the  church  is  one  of  the  first  places  he 
visits.  At  Christmas,  the  town  is  alive  with  the 
hardy  sons  of  toil,  who  gather  from  far  and  near 
to  replenish  the  empty  grub  sack  and  buy  pow- 
der and  other  necessaries  for  the  winter  siege  in 
prospect.  Most  of  the  boys  were  in  church  that 
night,  and  there  was  a  regular  round  of  hand 
shaking  and  merry  Christmas  greetings  before 
and  after  the  services.  A  little  after  twelve  the 
"Gloria  in  Excelsis"  pealed  through  the  little 
fane  and  was  caught  up  by  the  choir  until  it  rang 
out  in  sweet  strains  of  music  far  up  the  streets  of 
the  town.  I  preached  a  short  discourse  on  the 
Christmas  holy  day  and  the  lessons  that  should 
be  drawn  from  the  event.  I  was  unable  to  ex- 
tend my  remarks,  as  I  had  to  set  out  for  Ouray 
immediately  after  the  services.  The  service  over, 
Fred  soon  had  the  two  horses  before  the  church 
door.  We  sprang  into  the  saddle  and  many  a 
God  speed  and  merry  Christmas  followed  us  into 
the  storm  and  wind.  We  were  soon  rounding 
Stoibers'  mill  and  heading  up  the  valley  to  Red 
Mountain.  The  night  was  dark  and  a  sifting 
snow  filled  the  air,  making  it  necessary  to  go 
slowly  and  feel  the  way.  At  the  mill  there  were 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

several  trails.  Unfortunately  we  took  the 
wrong  one  and  found  ourselves  crossing  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  valley.  We  endeavored  to 
turn  in  the  narrow  passage,  where  our  horses 
floundered  in  four  feet  of  snow.  After  a  while 
they  fell,  compelling  us  to  dismount,  tramp  the 
snow  and  give  them  a  chance  to  rise.  When  we 
regained  the  old  trail  close  to  the  railroad  track, 
I  told  Fred  to  follow  me  on  the  track  to  Red 
Mountain.  I  had  learned  from  a  miner  who  had 
ridden  down  the  track  on  Sunday,  that  the  trail 
was  fairly  good.  I  knew  there  were  no  trains, 
the  bridges  were  few,  and  we  hoped  in  some  way 
to  get  over  them.  Far  up  the  height  for  a  mile 
or  more  the  snow  enveloped  the  mountain,  and 
the  danger  of  a  snowslide  was  great.  When  we 
reached  a  place  where  twenty  or  thirty  mules, 
and  I  believe  a  man,  were  lost,  several  years  be- 
fore, we  were  struck  with  fear  and  Fred  said 
afterwards  that  while  passing  it  he  could 
scarcely  breathe;  but  no  slide  came  down.  At 
times  we  walked  to  keep  up  the  circulation  in 
our  benumbed  limbs  and  rest  our  wearied  horses, 
and  then,  leaping  into  the  saddle,  spurred  our 
animals  on,  hoping  to  reach  Ouray  by  seven 
o'clock,  the  time  set  for  the  first  mass.  At 
Sheridan  Junction  we  left  the  railroad  along 
which  we  had  been  steering  our  way  and  resumed 
the  trail,  which  proved  to  be  a  good  sleigh  road 
from  that  to  Red  Mountain.  Fred  took  a  hot 
cup  of  coffee  and  it  must  have  been  strong,  as  he 
was  more  lively  the  rest  of  the  trip,  which,  to  the 
gratification  of  our  jaded  horses,  was  down  hill. 
When  we  entered  the  canon  it  was  still  dark  and 
rendered  more  so  by  the  snow  which  was  falling 
and  drifting.  All  at  once  my  horse  stopped  and 

24 


FIRST  EXPERIENCES 

refused  to  move.  I  urged  him,  but  he  stood 
stock  still,  then  I  struck  him,  and  suddenly  turn- 
ing, he  tried  to  walk  into  the  canon.  I  wrenched 
him  back  with  all  my  might  and,  dismounting, 
saw  to  my  horror  that  there  was  a  high  snow 
bank  across  the  road  and  that  the  horse,  unable 
to  go  through  it,  had  been  trying  to  go  around 
it.  We  should  have  been  precipitated  to  the 
bottom  of  one  of  the  most  awful  canons  in  the 
Rockies,  had  the  horse  pursued  the  way  upon 
which  I  was  urging  him.  Breaking  a  path 
through  the  drift  we  were  in  the  saddle  again  and 
another  hour  brought  us  into  Ouray  on  time  for 
the  second  mass,  chilled  to  the  bone  and  worn 
out.  I  proceeded  to  say  my  other  two  masses 
and  was  soon  feasting  on  a  breakfast  of  the 
American  bird. 


25 


SECOND  SKETCH 

IT  is  a  true,  if  flippant,  saying  of  the  political 
orator,  that  people  are  certain  of  two  things  in 
this  world,  namely:  taxes  and  death.  The  lat- 
ter is  not  so  prevalent  as  the  former  in  the  greater 
altitudes,  owing  perhaps  to  the  fact  that  few  who 
have  passed  the  meridian  of  life,  attempt  any  con- 
siderable elevation.  Death,  however,  comes  and 
beckons  the  young  and  strong  to  its  cold  em- 
brace here  as  elsewhere,  with  the  same  imperious 
finger  as  those  whose  life  is  already  on  the 
wane. 

One  Saturday  afternoon  in  the  early  autumn  of 
1890,    I    received   a   despatch    from  Silverton, 

notifying  me  that  Mrs.  was  dead,  and  that 

my  presence  was  required  at  the  funeral,  the  fol- 
lowing afternoon.  Silverton  is  twenty -seven 
miles  from  Ouray,  and  beyond  a  lofty  range  of 
mountains.  Thirteen  miles  of  the  journey  are 
up  hill  and  fourteen  down.  On  Sunday  I  was 
to  say  mass  at  Ouray  at  9:30  a.  m.  and  at  Red 
Mountain  at  noon.  Red  Mountain  camp  was  on 
the  top  of  the  range,  11,000  feet  above  sea  level. 
In  1890  it  was  in  the  heyday  of  its  glory. 
Everyone  had  work,  and  if  I  remember  aright 
the  wages  was  three  dollars  and  fifty  cents  a  day. 
It  was  easier  to  get  money  than  specimens  of  the 
peacock  and  ruby  silver,  which  came  from  the 
famous  Yankee  Girl,  a  million-a-year  producer 
hard  by.  The  Vanderbilt  and  Genesee,  a  few 
hundred  yards  distant,  were  also  big  shippers  of 
gold  as  well  as  silver,  and  the  town  was  in  a 
flourishing  state.  The  lights  never  went  out  in 
the  camp,  unless  when  coal  oil  failed,  or  a  stray 

26 


FUNERAI,   IN  THE   ROCKIES 

cowboy  shot  up  the  town.  The  men  worked 
night  and  day,  shift  and  shift  about,  and  the 
people  were  happy.  The  gambling  halls  were 
never  closed,  the  restaurants  did  a  profitable 
business,  and  no  one  could  lay  his  weary  bones 
on  a  bed  for  less  than  a  dollar.  Whiskey  was  as 
plentiful  as  the  limpid  water  that  gushed  from 
the  hills  behind  the  town,  sparkling  in  the  sun- 
light. In  those  days  it  never  cost  a  stranger  any- 
thing for  drinks;  he  was  welcome  to  eat,  drink 
and  be  merry;  indeed,  it  was  deemed  an  insult 
to  refuse  to  partake  of  anything  that  was  going. 
Tramps  were  as  scarce  as  Indians  on  the  shores 
of  Long  Island.  The  prospector's  cabin  on  the 
mountain  trail  was  left  unlocked.  You  might 
step  in,  cook  your  dinner  and  go  on,  or  if  tired, 
unroll  your  blankets  and  rest  to  your  heart's 
content.  If  the  owner  was  at  home  it  was  all 
right,  if  not,  the  conditions  of  hospitality  were 
the  same,  and  these  were,  "come  in,  help  your- 
self, and  go  rejoicing  on  your  way," — a  strik- 
ing contrast  to  great  cities,  where  a  selfish  opu- 
lence drives  the  needy  from  the  door.  The  owner 
of  the  mountain  cabin,  free  with  his  money, 
bacon  or  bunk,  deemed  it  an  honor  to  entertain 
his  caller,  however  poor.  Should  the  reader  ask 
of  what  nationality  such  generous  people  were, 
the  answer  is  Americans,  Irish- Americans  and 
Irish.  In  my  work  on  the  missions,  I  have 
found  Americans  liberal  and  self  sacrificing,  and 
I  do  not  believe  that  I  have  any  prejudice  in 
their  favor,  because  I  was  born  beneath  the  folds 
of  the  Star  Spangled  Banner.  Of  the  Irish  and 
the  Irish- Americans  there  can  be  only  one 
opinion,  and  it  is,  that  in  the  masses  you  will 
find  the  two  extremes,  the  worst  and  the  best. 

27 


IN    THE    SAN   JUAN 

They  are  great  in  faith,  hope  and  charity  when 
they  are  good;  but  when  they  are  bad  they  are 
bad  all  over.  The  four  little  churches,  whose 
bells  call  the  people  to  divine  worship  from 
Ridgeway  on  the  north,  to  Silverton  on  the 
south,  a  distance  apart  of  forty  miles,  tell  of  their 
faith.  With  their  own  hands  and  money  we 
toiled  together,  until  at  every  ten  miles  of  the 
way  a  bell  hailed  the  name  of  Mary,  Joseph  or 
Patrick.  There  was  no  church  at  that  time  at 
Red  Mountain;  later  one  was  erected  two  miles 
below  at  a  little  town  called  Iron  ton.  The 
schoolhouse,  an  old  store,  or  a  private  residence, 
served  as  a  place  of  worship,  and  the  priest  al- 
ways received  a  warm  welcome  from  the  miners, 
who  never  failed  to  drop  their  mite  into  the 
basket  on  Sunday.  A  five  or  ten  dollar  bill  or  coin 
was  nothing  strange  to  find  in  the  collection.  The 
miner  said,  "He  made  a  good  talk  and  we  ought 
to  help  the  preacher. ' '  I  said  mass  at  Ouray  at 
the  usual  time  on  Sunday  morning,  preached  a 
short  discourse  on  the  gospel  of  the  day,  and  was 
about  to  mount  my  broncho  for  Red  Mountain, 
when  I  espied  my  old  friend  Billy  Maher,  who 
had  just  come  down  from  Mount  Sneffles,  where 
he  had  been  working  in  the  mines.  I  invited  him 
to  accompany  me  to  Red  Mountain,  and  fulfil  the 
precept  of  hearing  mass  on  Sunday.  Billy  as- 
sented and  hastened  to  the  livery  stable  for  a 
horse,  there  to  find  only  one  wicked  broncho 
whose  heel  leverage  was  known  far  and  wide. 
This  animal  had  the  centre  of  gravity  so  well 
focussed  that  he  could  buck  a  Kansas  cowboy 
out  of  the  saddle,  or  give  a  Navajo  Indian  a  pain 
in  the  midriff  for  a  week.  But  Billy,  nothing 
daunted,  ordered  him  saddled  and  brought  out. 

28 


FUNERAL   IN   THE   ROCKIES 

All  the  stable  boys  in  King's  barn  tightened  the 
saddle  girth  at  the  imminent  risk  of  their  lives, 
and  the  famous  roan  was  led  forth.  Billy  vaulted 
into  the  saddle  with  all  the  grace  of  one  of  Sher- 
man's  troopers.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the 
horse  stood  on  his  hind  -feet  as  if  to  depart  to  the 
world  of  spirits,  and  then  came  down,  with  his 
fore  feet  stiff  upon  the  ground,  with  a  thud  that 
would  break  the  heart  of  an  ordinary  man;  in 
another  moment  his  hind  feet  were  far  in  the  air 
and  his  head  was  bowed  low,  throwing  Billy  well 
forward  in  the  saddle;  but  the  familiar  half  grin 
remained  on  the  face  of  the  rider,  who  sat  like  a 
rock  on  a  mountain.  Billy  was  an  athlete.  Born 
at  the  foot  of  Keeper's  Hill  in  Tipperary,  he  came 
of  a  hardy  peasantry  that  know  no  fear.  He 
had  often  ridden  his  father's  gray  mare  over 
hedge  and  ditch  in  the  hunting  season,  keeping 
well  up  with  the  hounds,  so  he  was  quite  in  his 
element.  Half  Ouray  was  out,  and  the  gamblers 
deserted  the  faro  tables  to  see  the  sport  outdoors, 
for  everyone  knew,  and,  what  was  better,  es- 
teemed Billy  Maher,  the  man  that  never  swore, 
never  drank  to  excess,  never  lost  his  temper  and 
had  a  good  word  for  everyone.  Billy,  too,  was 
the  right  hand  man  of  the  priest  and  sisters. 
Many  a  time  he  led  the  sisters  over  the  rugged 
mountain  passes,  and  from  camp  to  camp, 
gathered  the  dollars  that  helped  to  build  the 
hospitals  of  Durango  and  Ouray.  But  to  return 
to  his  encounter  with  the  broncho.  The  animal 
gradually  stopped  its  wild  plunging  and  dashed 
madly  up  the  street,  everyone  getting  out  of  its 
way  for  bare  life.  Here,  for  the  moment,  let  me 
digress  to  mention  the  characteristic  feat  of  the 
expert  cowboy  subduing  the  wild  broncho.  The 

29 


IN    THB    SAN   JUAN 

wild  pony  is  led  out  into  the  street,  the  throngs 
cheer,  the  horse,  unused  to  man,  becomes  frantic 
and  strives  to  break  away.  When  everything  is 
ready ,  the  sprinter  of  the  plains  is  turned  loose  and 
stands  for  a  moment  perplexed,  looks  wildly 
around  and  then  rushes  down  the  street  with 
lightning  speed.  With  a  whoop  the  cowboy  is 
after  him,  and  when  the  wild  horse  has  attained 
his  greatest  speed,  the  cowboy  rises  gracefully  in 
his  stirrups,  measures  the  distance  between  him- 
self and  the  fleeing  pony  with  his  eye,  then  his 
arm  shoots  out,  his  hand  poises  in  the  air  and  a 
coil  of  rope  unrolls  like  a  serpent,  hastens  on 
its  course  with  unerring  accuracy,  catches  the 
hind  foot  of  the  frightened  horse  and  closes 
around  it.  In  an  instant  the  trained  horse  of  the 
cowboy  throws  himself  back  on  his  haunches, 
planting  his  fore  feet  firmly  on  the  ground  to 
meet  the  resilient  shock  which  comes,  when  his 
foe  is  stretched  upon  the  ground.  An  ordinar}*- 
rider  would  go  far  over  the  horse's  head,  but  the 
cowboy  is  prepared  for  the  rebound  and  remains 
firmly  seated  in  his  saddle.  The  lassoed  horse  is 
laid  low  by  a  dextrous  movement  and  in  an  in- 
stant the  cowboy  is  out  of  his  saddle  and  has  a 
bridle  on  the  animal.  The  other  pony  keeps  the 
rope  taut  and  stands x  viewing  the  ceremony  with 
great  interest.  It  takes  but  a  few  moments  to  put  a 
saddle  on  the  animal  and  then  the  fun  really  be- 
gins. The  handling  of  the  bucking  broncho  is  an 
amusement  which  makes  the  most  sedate  laugh, 
and  success  in  the  operation  crowns  the  rider  who 
holds  his  seat  ever  after  as  a  victor.  The  antics 
of  the  horse  are  ludicrous,  dangerous  and  even 
foreign  to  that  noblest  of  animals.  In  trying  to 
get  rid  of  the  rider,  it  will  lie  down  and  roll  over 

30 


p 
< 
o 


O 


rt 

o 

fc 
o 

| 

> 


FUNERAL  IN  THE   ROCKIES 

if  possible.  Rising  on  its  hind  feet,  it  often  falls 
backward  and  maims  or  kills  the  rider.  Jumping 
stiff -legged,  crossing  its  feet,  kicking,  striking 
with  its  fore  feet  or  springing  into  the  air  and 
coming  down  solidly  on  the  ground,  are  feats 
which  delight  the  cowboy.  Gradually  its  powers 
of  endurance  are  exhausted  and  the  animal  be- 
coming docile,  learns  to  love  the  cowboy. 

We  were  off  at  last  and  at  a  speed  that  would 
have  dazzled  the  eyes  of  the  hero  of  Winchester. 
The  road  for  eight  miles  is  narrow,  with  bare- 
ly room  for  two  teams  in  the  widest  place.  You 
can  see  the  bed  of  the  creek  two  thousand  feet  be- 
low. By  the  time  the  most  dangerous  point  was 
reached,  Billy's  horse  had  cooled  down  and  was 
quiet  and  gentle.  A  grade  of  three  thousand  five 
hundred  feet  in  thirteen  miles  deserves  men- 
tion even  in  the  Rockies,  and  when  we  arrived 
at  Red  Mountain  our  horses  were  not  in  the  best 
shape.  Billy  brought  the  boys  together,  and  I 
arranged  the  temporary  altar,  beginning  mass  at 
about  1 2 : 30  a .  m .  When  breakfast  was  over  I  had 
a  pleasant  chat  with  those  patient  delvers  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  and  an  introduction  to  the 
newcomers  in  camp.  Mutual  good  will  exists 
among  the  poor  and  honest  sons  of  toil,  and  in 
a  marked  degree  this  is  true  of  the  miner,  who 
always  lives  in  danger  of  death  in  handling 
dynamite.  Moreover,  he  runs  the  frequent  risk 
of  being  maimed  for  life  by  premature  explosions, 
caving-in  of  mines  and  breaking  of  cables. 
Whether  this  has  anything  to  do  with  the 
miner's  frankness  and  good  nature  I  know  not; 
but  I  have  seen  more  genuine  sorrow  exhibited 
over  a  miner,  killed  in  an  accident,  than  at  the 
pompous  funeral  of  the  elite.  I  have  found  a 

31 


IN   THE  SAN  JUAN 

warmth  of  feeling  in  the  grasp  of  a  finger-stalled 
hand  that  I  have  never  experienced  in  the  kid- 
gloved  touch  of  the  city  cad.  The  miner's  ways 
are  characterized  by  simplicity,  bluntness  and 
honesty,  and  he  possesses  a  rough, sound,  practical 
judgment.  Even  his  pastimes  evince  a  marked 
degree  of  virility .  Witness  the  drill  contests.  They 
are  the  supreme  final  test  of  superiority  among 
the  picked  hammer  strikers  and  drill  turners,  and 
cause  such  excitement  in  a  camp  that  thousands 
of  dollars  change  hands.  Great  muscular  power 
and  endurance  is  something  of  which  any  one 
may  be  proud.  For  months  before  the  trial,  two 
or  three  hours  are  spent  each  week  in  periods  of 
fifteen  minutes,  and  these  giants  of  the  drill  stand 
over  the  hardest  block  of  granite  that  can  be 
found  in  the  mountains.  One  of  them  strikes  the 
drill  for  three  or  five  minutes  and  the  other  turns 
it;  a  good  turner,  again,  is  an  absolute  condition 
for  success,  for  if  the  drill  once  becomes  fast  in  the 
rock,  the  contest  is  practically  over.  The  drill 
must  have  received  the  proper  temper  and  the 
blows  must  come  with  a  force  proportioned  to  the 
strength  of  the  drill.  The  blows  fall  like  a  trip 
hammer  and  with  a  rapidity  which  the  eye  can 
scarcely  follow,  and  with  each  blow  the  drill 
turns  in  the  hand  of  the  holder,  ejecting  the  fine- 
cut  granite  from  the  hole,  and  thus  keeping  it 
open.  At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes,  the  striker, 
fatigued  by  his  rapid  movements,  drops  the  heavy 
hammer  into  the  hands  of  his  companion,  seizes 
the  drill  and  the  hole  goes  down  into  the  hardest 
of  granite  at  the  rate  of  an  inch  and  a-half  to  the 
minute.  Twenty-five  inches  or  more  have  been 
drilled  into  the  granite  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
something  which  our  fathers  thought,  never  could 

32 


FUNERAL  IN  THE   ROCKIES 

be  accomplished  by  the  hand  of  man.  While  he 
makes  little  display  of  piety,  he  is  firm  in  the 
faith  and  ready  to  do  what  is  fair.  He  will 
not  fight  without  a  good  cause,  and  he  does  not 
need  much  of  the  diplomatist' s  art  to  decide  when 
he  is  in  the  right.  As  a  rule,  he  minds  his  own 
affairs,  and  except  when  he  indulges  over  much 
in  the  cup  that  inebriates,  keeps  out  of  strife 
and  cares,  and,  therefore,  is  entitled  to  wear  a 
medal  on  his  breast. 

Billy  having  answered  many  questions  about 
the  boys  on  the  stormy  mountains,  we  tightened 
our  saddle  girths,  mounted  our  bronchos  and 
rode  leisurely  down  through  the  tall  pines  to  the 
dilapidated  town  of  Chattanooga.  It  had  been 
dismantled  by  a  snowslide  which  a  few  years  be- 
fore swept  away  a  part  of  the  town,  and  its 
condition  at  our  visit  was  not  inviting  from  any 
point  of  view.  The  ruins,  consisting  of  the  roofs 
and  sides  of  houses,  were  strewn  for  half  a  mile 
over  the  valley,  and  the  population  of  a  once 
flourishing  hamlet  had  dwindled  down  to  the 
small  number  of  two.  One  of  these  kept  a  saloon, 
which  was  a  sort  of  half-way  house  between  Red 
Mountain  and  Silverton.  The  other,  who  was  a 
widow  with  many  children,  appeared  to  be  in 
the  laundry  business,  for  the  clothes  lines  were 
always  full;  but  where  she  got  her  customers  the 
future  historian  of  Chattanooga  must  discover. 
The  afternoon  was  beautiful.  The  sun  sent  his 
slanting  rays  down  the  Ophir  Range,  diffusing 
them  in  quivering  banners  of  light,  until  they 
reached  the  valley  below,  where  they  were  lost 
in  a  maze  of  shadows.  The  aspen  far  up  the 
rugged  heights,  '  'confessing  the  gentlest  breeze, ' ' 
was  just  changing  into  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

of  the  dying  year.  The  sides  of  the  mountain, 
clothed  in  the  purple  hues  of  scrubby  oak  leaf 
and  flora,  indigenous  to  the  state  of  Colorado, 
and  adorned  with  a  bouquet  here  and  there  of 
pine  or  spruce,  offered  a  delightful  picture  to  the 
lover  of  the  wild  and  romantic  in  nature.  As 
noble  a  stream  as  ever  burst  from  Colorado's 
mountains  rushes  on  forever  to  the  smiling  val- 
ley; rocks  like  cathedral  spires,  towering  sky 
high,  pierced  the  azure  dome  of  heaven,  and  one 
peak  soaring  far  above  the  others  seems  to  stand 
like  a  sentry  over  the  glorious  creation.  The 
blue  canopy  rests  like  a  curtain  on  the  valley, 
while  the  deep  hush  of  the  autumn  afternoon 
invited  the  mind  to  reflections  upon  the  Al- 
mighty Artist,  who  reveals  Himself  in  such  an 
awe-inspiring  manner. 

Here  we  had  to  ford  the  stream  at  the  old 
crossing.  We  drew  up  our  jaded  horses  to  let 
them  drink  of  the  cool  water.  To  the  right, 
upon  a  little  knoll,  lay  the  whitened  bones  of  a 
horse,  stripped  clean  by  coyotes,  mountain  lions 
and  years  of  bleaching  in  a  rarefied  atmosphere. 
Billy  said  musingly:  "Father  Gibbons,  that  horse 
has  a  history.  If  those  bones  could  speak,  they 
might  tell  of  a  tragedy  which  happened  at  this 
crossing  and  in  this  stream.  When  the  rich 
strikes  around  Silverton  were  made,  people 
rushed  from  all  quarters  to  the  new  El  Dorado, 
some  to  work,  others  to  gamble  and  many 
to  see  the  wild  West;  but  all  to  make  a 
fortune  at  once.  Among  them  was  a  youth  of 
refined  education  and  manners.  I  have  forgot- 
ten his  name,  but  for  convenience  sake,  I  shall 
call  him  Tom.  Tom  came  to  the  camp  to  get 
rich,  but,  like  many  others,  he  found  out  that 

34 


IN  THE   ROCKIES 

gold  does  not  grow  on  the  trees.  The  long  win- 
ter in  Silverton  kept  him  from  prospecting  in  the 
mountains,  and,  like  many  of  his  young  acquaint- 
ances, he  spent  no  small  part  of  his  days  and 
nights  in  dissipation.  By  degrees  he  became  as 
depraved  as  any  of  the  vicious  classes  of  the 
frontier.  He  was  an  expert  gambler  and  drank 
deep  of  the  draught  that  kills.  The  dance  hall 
and  the  wine  room  made  him  a  physical  and 
moral  wreck.  He  cast  aside  the  wholesome  re- 
straints of  religion,  and  the  influences  of  early 
training  lost  all  their  force  for  him.  One  night 
he  played  for  high  stakes  with  a  man  of  few 
words  and  a  cool  head,  one  who  kept  an  eye  on 
his  opponent  as  well  as  the  cards.  Of  course  the 
trusty  forty-five  lay  beside  the  heap  of  gold, 
that  shone  in  the  lamplight  of  the  dingy  gam- 
bling house.  It  is  said  that  Tom  cheated,  and 
was  called  down;  there  was  a  fight  and  the 
trouble  was  patched  up  by  the  onlookers  and 
the  parties  themselves.  After  this  the  game 
dragged  along  in  silence,  but  a  silence  that  was 
so  intense  and  significant  as  to  suggest  an  under- 
current of  unpleasant  feeling,  notably  in  the 
taciturn  stranger.  When  daylight  came  they 
were  about  even  in  the  game,  and  the  man  of 
reserved  manners,  walking  up  to  the  bar,  invited 
all  the  company  to  have  a  drink.  Then  turning 
to  Tom,  he  said:  'L,et  us  go  over  to  Red  Moun- 
tain to-morrow.  I  am  tired  of  this  place.'  'All 
right/  said  Tom,  'after dinner,  we  shall  go.'  So 
after  dinner  next  day  they  left  Silverton  for  Red 
Mountain,  and  here  at  the  crossing  they  gave 
their  horses  a  drink,  just  as  we  have  done.  Poor 
Tom  was  a  little  in  advance  of  the  stranger,  who, 
while  the  horses  were  drinking,  coolly  drew  his 

35 


IN  THE  SAN  JUAN 

revolver  and  deliberately  shot  his  companion 
dead.  With  a  groan  Tom  dropped  from  the 
saddle  into  the  icy  water,  and  his  horse  rushed 
through  the  stream  to  the  opposite  side.  An- 
other well-directed  shot  from  the  murderer's  pis- 
tol laid  the  horse  low  upon  that  little  knoll,  and 
his  bones  have  remained  there  all  these  years.'* 
Billy  and  I  spurred  on  our  horses  and  were  soon 
in  front  of  the  neat  little  white  church,  which 
stood  like  an  angel  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 
The  funeral  to  which  I  had  been  summoned 
was  already  at  the  church,  which  was  tastefully 
draped  by  the  good  ladies  of  Silverton.  The 

deceased  Mrs. was  a  lady  of  good  birth,  a 

woman  who,  an  American  would  say,  had  a  great 
deal  of  push  and  energy.  She  had  conie  to  this 
country  young,  but  with  a  mind  well  stored  with 
Catholic  doctrine.  She  had  acquired  the  rudi- 
ments of  her  education  in  the  national  schools  of 
Ireland,  which  afford  the  young  an  excellent 
training,  and  received  the  finishing  touches  of  a 
liberal  education  in  a  convent  school.  In  a 
moment  of  folly  she  contracted  an  alliance  with 
one  who,  in  station  and  culture,  was  her  in- 
ferior, and  reaped  the  fruits  of  her  imprudence 
in  an  unhappy  married  life.  With  true  Christian 
patience  she  accepted  the  cross,  nursed  her  grief 
in  secret,  and  with  her  vision  purified  by  suffer- 
ing, learned  to  accept  her  lot  and  acknowledge 
that  it  was  just.  Thus  her  domestic  trials  were 
for  her  the  discipline  of  perfection,  and  being  a 
faithful  child  of  the  church,  "she  learned  obe- 
dience by  the  things  she  suffered."  In  a  letter 
which  I  received  after  her  death,  she  left  the 
story  of  her  sorrows  in  an  impassioned  narrative 
that  would  draw  tears  from  the  most  hardened.  She 

36 


FUNKRAI,   IN  THE   ROCKIES 

revealed  the  skeleton  that  was  hid  in  the  closet, 
and  as  I  reflected  upon  her  death,  which,  humanly 
speaking,  was  untimely,  the  thought  came  to  me 
that  it  might  have  been  better  for  the  poor 
creature  if  she  had  spent  her  life  in  her  mother's 
modest  cottage  than  as  the  wife  of  a  domestic 
tyrant,  who  hated  the  Catholic  Church  and  com- 
pelled his  devoted  wife  secretly  to  steal  into  the 
house  of  God  to  worship  Him  after  the  fashion  of 
her  ancestors.  But  she  married  a  stranger  to  the 
household  of  faith.  She  did  not  live  in  vain, 
however,  if  her  example  serves  as  a  warning  to 
others.  The  last  prayers  having  been  said,  the 
funeral  cortege  moved  through  the  little  town  to 
the  cemetery,  where  the  final  benediction  was 
given.  As  the  mountain  breezes  softly  fanned 
the  newly  made  grave,  and  bore  away  the  echoes 
of  the  murmuring  requiescant  in  pace,  we  turned 
from  the  sad  scene  with  sobering  thoughts  upon 
the  vanity  of  earthly  things. 

The  sun  was  just  below  the  mountains  and  we 
had  an  opportunity  of  enjoying  one  of  the  splen- 
did sunsets  for  which  Colorado  is  famous.  No 
poet's  pen  or  artist's  pencil  could  give  the  faint- 
est idea  of  that  sea  of  golden  light  in  which  the 
monarch  of  day  sank  to  his  rest,  bequeathing  the 
glowing  radiance  of  his  departure  to  the  mighty 
ranges.  With  one  of  the  sudden  changes  which 
are  familiar  in  these  regions,  the  blaze  of  glory 
had  scarcely  faded  when  ominous  clouds  began 
to  steal  over  the  lately  sun-tipped  heights  and 
the  lazy  rumblings  of  distant  thunder  warned  us 
of  the  coming  storm.  Billy  must  report  for  work 
in  the  Virginius  mine  the  next  morning,  and 
twenty-seven  miles  in  the  saddle  surely  give  a 
man  an  appetite.  So  having  fed  the  horses  and 

37 


IN  THK  SAN  JUAN 

taken  a  pretty  substantial  supper,  we  started 
homeward  in  good  form.  Passing  out  of  the 
valley  we  began  to  climb  the  rugged  ascent  to 
Red  Mountain  and  had  not  proceeded  far  when 
the  rain  came  down  in  torrents.  The  water  be- 
gan to  flood  the  trail,  which  we  found  ourselves 
obliged  to  leave  and  seek  the  shelter  of  a  cabin, 
that  nestled  among  the  trees.  In  moving  down 
the  slippery  passage,  my  horse  fell;  luckily  I 
was  not  in  the  saddle,  having  dismounted  before 
we  began  to  climb  the  hill.  The  horse  rolled 
down  until  he  came  in  contact  with  a  pine, 
around  which  his  feet  slid,  leaving  him  in  a  most 
embarrassing  position — perfectly  helpless.  He 
could  not  get  up,  he  could  not  get  down;  mean- 
while the  rain  came  fast  and  furious.  The  light- 
ning played  around  our  heads  and  heaven's  artil- 
lery awoke  the  echoes  with  responsive  detona- 
tions, which  produced  a  grand  but  terrific  music. 
There  the  horse  lay  unable  to  extricate  himself, 
while  Billy  and  myself  tugged  and  pulled  and  tried 
to  lift,  but  could  not  move  him.  At  last  we  took 
the  halters,  tied  them  around  the  prostrate 
animal  and  then  to  the  saddlehorn  of  Billy's  roan 
and  detached  the  horse  from  the  tree  without 
further  trouble.  The  storm  had  passed  and  the 
moon, stealing  out  from  behind  the  clouds,  lighted 
our  way  through  the  dark  pines.  Leading  our 
fagged  horses,  we  trudged  over  the  slippery  road 
until  we  arrived  at  Red  Mountain,  where  we  took 
a  light  lunch.  After  a  short  rest  we  rode  down 
the  mountain  to  Ouray,  which  we  reached  shortly 
before  midnight. 


THIRD  SKETCH 

THE  winter  of  1888  in  the  San  Juan  was 
pleasant.  There  had  been  a  thaw  in  Jan- 
uary, but  Washington's  birthday  found  the 
snow  hard  and  compact,  and  the  weather  was 
fine  to  the  end  of  February.  Some  days  were  so 
warm  that  the  snow  melted  a  little,  even  on  the 
tops  of  the  mountains,  but  froze  again;  thus  the 
fear  of  snowslides  was  removed. 

The  miners,  on  horseback  or  afoot,  had  crossed 
and  recrossed  the  Sneffles  range  on  their  way  to 
the  city  of  Telluride.  They  esteemed  such  meth- 
ods of  travel  cheaper  than  to  pay  seven  dollars 
to  ride  in  the  cold  on  one  of  Wood's  large  stages, 
and  listen  to  the  monotonous  bu-u-u-ing  of  a 
stage  driver,  who  had  plied  his  whip  for  forty 
years  over,  western  hills  and  plains.  Wrapped 
in  blankets,  and  seated  generally  alone  on  a  high 
seat,,  on  a  cold  day,  anyone  might  well  fall  into 
the  habit  of  bu-u-u-ing.  The  old  gentleman 
may  have  thought  his  soft  humming  helped  the 
horses;  but  it  became  so  much  a  matter  of  course 
with  him,  that  the  moment  the  wheels  began  to 
revolve,  the  tiresome  refrain  was  struck  up  and 
held  with  a  dreary  iteration  from  station  to  sta- 
tion. 

From  Dallas  to  Telluride,  a  distance  of  some 
fifty  miles,  three  stations  provided  the  necessary 
relays.  These  stages  were  among  the  best 
equipped  in  the  West.  The  horses  were  in  good 
condition,  well  fed  and  well  groomed,  and  being 
strong  animals,  whirled  the  stage  over  the  road 
at  a  rattling  gait.  At  one  of  the  stations  was  an 
old  hostler,  always  clean  and  neat,  who  stood 

39 


IN   THE   SAN   JUAN 

six  feet  in  his  stockings,  was  as  straight  as  an 
arrow  and  had  a  military  bearing.  His  name 
was  O'Connell;  but  it  did  not  need  the  name  to 
tell  his  nationality.  With  the  approach  of  the 
stage,  he  had  fresh  horses  promptly  at  hand  and 
ready  to  put  into  the  traces.  Seldom  over  three 
minutes  were  occupied  in  the  change.  Every- 
thing around  the  lonely  stable  on  the  mountain 
road  was  as  bright  as  a  pin,  and  I  concluded  that 
Mr.  O'Connell  must  have  belonged  at  one  time 
to  Systematic  Uncle  Sam's  cavalry.  Upon  hear- 
ing his  name  called  I  sidled  up  to  him,  and 
opened  my  great  coat  that  he  might  see  my  collar 
and  learn  that  I  too  was  enrolled  in  a  great  serv- 
ice. I  remarked  in  a  bantering  way:  "That 
name  of  yours  proclaims  you  a  German,  does  it 
not?"  "Oh  no,  Father,  I  was  born  in  Ireland." 
"You  are  a  Catholic  then,"  I  said.  "Well,  yes, 
Father,  I  am  a  Catholic,  but  it  is  quite  a  little 
bit  since  I  was  in  a  church."  "When  were  you 
at  your  duty  last, ' '  I  inquired.  *  'A  long  time  ago 
indeed,"  he  replied.  "When  I  'listed,  and  went 
to  the  Crimean  War,  I  bethink  myself  I  went  to 
my  duty.  Then  when  the  war  was  over  I  came 
to  the  States,  and  here  I  'listed  in  the  regulars, 
and  when  the  Civil  war  broke  out  I  'listed  once 
more  and  went  to  the  front.  I  served  all  through 
the  war,  and  got  kind  of  careless,  but  I  promise 
you  I'll  go  to  my  duty  pretty  soon,  for  I'm  get- 
ting to  be  a  pretty  old  man  now. ' '  His  words 
were  prophetic;  for  a  few  months  after,  he  got 
the  pneumonia.  At  the  time  of  his  illness, 
chancing  to  be  on  the  stage,  I  visited  him,  and 
administered  to  him  the  last  sacraments.  Not 
long  after  he  died. 

On  the  2ist  of  February   I  received  from  Tel- 

40 


FROM    DAU.AS  TO    TEUJJRIDE 

luride  a  summons  to  come  across  the  range  early 
the  next  morning,  to  attend  a  funeral  of  a  miner 
named  Flannigan,  who  had  been  killed  at  the 
Sheridan  mine.  The  telegram  stated  that  two 
horses  would  meet  me  at  the  Sheridan,  which  is  in 
Marshall  Basin.  I  mention  this  circumstance  by 
way  of  explanation,  as  we  could  ride  our  horses 
only  to  the  Virginius  mine,  then  go  afoot  to  the  top 
of  the  range,  and  down  two  or  three  miles  to  the 
Sheridan.  I  feared  the  trip,  but  there  was  no 
alternative.  I  had  to  cross  the  range  as  the 
stage  had  departed,  and  it  was  over  fifty  miles 
around  the  Sneffles  range  to  Telluride.  Fred 
Thornton  was  then  at  the  hospital,  fully  re- 
covered from  a  fit  of  sickness,  and  he  offered  to 
accompany  me  on  the  journey.  I  resolved  to 
take  my  vestments,  that  I  might  be  enabled  to 
say  mass.  We  ordered  two  horses  for  three  in 
the  morning,  which  was  an  early  hour  for  a  trip 
in  midwinter.  We  packed  the  vestments  and 
set  the  alarm  clock  for  three;  but  being  at  that 
time  troubled  with  insomnia,  I  slept  little.  At 
two  o'clock  we  arose,  and  Fred  took  a  light 
breakfast.  We  were  soon  on  our  way  to  Mount 
Sneffles.  The  morning  was  clear,  and  the  mer- 
cury recorded  twenty  below  zero.  The  road  to 
the  Virginius  mine  was  in  tolerably  good  con- 
dition. Far  up  the  canon,  however,  it  was  some- 
what dangerous  on  account  of  its  closeness  to  the 
precipice,  a  false  step,  and  horse  and  rider  would 
be  hurled  two  thousand  feet  below.  Almost  on 
the  apex  of  the  range,  in  the  Sneffles  District,the 
Humbolt  mine  is  situated.  The  mountains 
stretch  away  from  it  toward  the  south  in  the 
form  of  a  vast  amphitheatre  until  they  reach 
Red  Mountain,  where  they  turn  to  the  north, 

41 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

seeming  to  terminate  in  those  giant  peaks,  that 
rise  up  to  the  east  of  Ouray.  The  eye  may  easily 
outline  this  sublime  scene  from  Sneffles'  highest 
point,  trace  the  black  curling  smoke  as  it  ascends 
from  the  smoke  stacks  at  the  Yankee  Girl  mine, 
and  take  in,  at  a  glance,  the  whole  country  for 
miles  around.  Old  Mount  Abram,  gray  and  dull 
colored  from  the  heat  and  storms  of  thousands 
of  years,  towers  above  all  his  fellows,  and  appears 
but  a  rifle  shot  down  to  the  Ouray  toll  road;  yet 
it  is  many  miles  distant. 

The  Humbolt  is  exposed  to  all  the  rigors  of 
the  winter  storms  on  those  lofty  mountains.  No 
trees  or  sheltering  gulches  break  the  force  of  the 
awful  blizzards  which  sweep  along  those  naked 
heights.  To  witness  a  snowslide  within  a  short 
distance  of  the  miners'  bunkhouse  is  no  rare  oc- 
currence. Mr.  M was  the  foreman  of  this 

mine,  and  prided  himself  on  being  nearer  the 
spirit  land  than  most  men,  the  Humbolt  being 
at  an  elevation  of  about  13,000  feet.  He  was 
a  miner  of  long  experience;  and,  under  his  di- 
rection, the  mine  rapidly  developed  into  one  of 
the  largest  producers  of  that  district.  Before  the 
fall  in  the  price  of  silver,  this  mine  gave  employ- 
ment to  1 80  men.  A  well-beaten  trail  connected 
the  mine  with  Porter's.  Every  day  long  trains 
of  burros  might  be  seen  moving  up  and  down 
the  trail,  the  former  bringing  in  supplies  and  the 
latter  carrying  down  the  argentiferous  treasures 
to  Ouray.  The  storms  were  at  times  so  severe 
that  even  the  most  hardy  miner  dared  not  at- 
tempt a  trip  to  town.  On  one  side  the  route  for 
a  greater  part  of  the  way  led  along  the  edge  of 
an  embankment,  while  on  the  other,  high  cliffs 
extended  to  the  summit  of  the  range.  During  a 


FROM    DAU,AS  TO 

severe  storm  the  incautious  traveler  is  apt  to  lose 
the  trail;  and,  wandering  over  the  cliffs,  runs  the 
risk  of  being  hurled  to  destruction.  One  day  a 
Swede  set  out  over  this  trail  in  a  blinding  snow 
storm.  Losing  his  way,  he  wandered  for  some 
time  among  the  cliffs,  vainly  endeavoring  to  find 
the  trail.  So  filled  was  the  air  with  thickly  fall- 
ing snow  that  it  became  impossible  for  him  to 
know  the  direction  in  which  he  was  going.  He 
walked  off  into  the  abyss,  and  fell  down  the 
jagged  rocks  for  a  distance  of  about  five  hundred 
feet.  The  rocks,  being  covered  with  frozen 
snow,  afforded  him  no  opportunity  of  clinging  to 
the  jutting  crags;  so  that,  when  once  in  motion, 
he  shot  down  with  almost  meteoric  speed.  He 
lay  there  for  many  hours  suffering  excruciating 
torments,  and  would  have  frozen  to  death  had 
not  some  miners,  who  chanced  to  be  passing  by, 
beheld,  far  down  in  the  gulch,  in  the  white  snow, 
a  dark  object  which  they  made  out  to  be  a  man. 
By  using  the  greatest  caution,  and  after  much 
difficulty,  they  reached  him.  He  was  in  a  state 
of  unconsciousness,  his  skull  being  fractured, 
and  his  body  a  bruised  and  bleeding  mass.  Call- 
ing to  their  aid  some  more  help,  the  unfortunate 
man  was  taken  to  the  sisters'  hospital,  where  he 
died  in  a  few  days. 

The  canon  in  the  SnefHes'  district  is  perhaps 
one  of  the  grandest  and  most  picturesque  sights 
in  Colorado.  A  few  hundred  yards  from  the  en- 
trance is  Ouray.  Here  also  the  canon  to  Red 
Mountain  opens,  cutting  a  mighty  seam  through 
the  granite  formation.  Far  down  in  those  unex- 
plored depths,  two  noble  streams  dash  along  and 
commingle  their  waters  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city. 
This  stream  is  called  the  Uncompaghre.  As  you 

43 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

swing  around  the  turn  on  the  way  to  Mount 
Sneffles,  you  behold  to  the  right  the  bubbling 
stream  rise  from  the  rocks.  Springs  of  hot  water 
gush  forth  not  two  hundred  yards  from  the  swift 
current,  the  icy  touch  of  which  chills  the  marrow 
of  one's  bones.  To  the  left,  and  far  away  up  the 
heights,  tall  rocks,  like  the  minarets  of  a  Moslem 
temple,  stand  out  in  relief  to  the  rough,  serrated 
points  and  wooded  plateaus  that  were  strewn 
around  when  the  earth  was  in  course  of  eruption. 
Often  on  a  summer's  afternoon  have  I  taken  my 
glasses  and  watched  the  leader  of  a  band  of  Rocky 
Mountain  sheep,  as  he  stood  upon  one  of 
those  high  points  keeping  guard,  while  the  others 
took  their  meal.  It  was  the  shepherd  watching 
his  flock,  and  there  for  hours  he  stood  immovable, 
with  his  eye  on  the  road  below  and  the  city  of 
Ouray.  These  animals  live  near  timber  line, 
like  the  chamois  of  Switzerland,  far  from  the 
haunts  of  man,  and  eat  the  small  bunches  of 
grass  that  shoot  from  the  crevices  of  the  rocks. 
They  are  very  timid,  and  only  an  expert  can  come 
within  rifle  range  of  them.  When  closely  pur- 
sued they  will  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  jump 
from  twenty-five  to  thirty  feet  down  on  the  solid 
rock.  Coyotes,  wolves  and  eagles,  as  well  as  the 
banned  sportsman,  so  prey  upon  them,  that  few 
bunches  of  them  now  remain. 

The  canon  is  bold,  grand  and  rugged  from  the 
beginning.  At  the  opening  are  a  few  garden 
patches,  on  which,  even  at  so  great  an  altitude,  a 
variety  of  vegetables  may  be  raised.  In  summer 
the  hillsides  are  banked  with  mountain  flowers, 
not  known  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  valley.  The 
pine,  spruce  and  poplar  provide  a  cool  shade  in 
the  summer  heats.  On  either  side  of  the  stream 

44 


FROM   DALLAS    TO 

narrow  gulches  pierce  this  deep  defile,  from 
which  issue  crystal  streams  of  cold  water.  The 
scene  is  impressive  and  the  sound  of  the  rushing 
waters,  blended  with  the  song  of  the  wild  bird, 
produces  a  melody  which  soothes  and  delights. 
The  farther  you  move  up  the  canon,  the  wilder 
and  more  sublime  the  scene  becomes.  Gradually 
the  pine  and  the  spruce  disappear  and  you  stand 
upon  a  desert  of  rock  with  here  and  there  a  lit- 
tle patch  of  grass  kept  alive  in  the  scanty  soil, 
washed  in  by  the  rain.  At  Porter's,  there  is  a 
valley  of  a  few  acres  surrounded  by  pines.  Por- 
ter's was  then  and  is  yet,  I  believe,  the  terminus 
of  the  wagon  road.  Here  is  the  celebrated 
Revenue  Tunnel  cut  into  the  mountain,  which 
rises  to  a  height  of  over  12,500  feet.  At  this 
elevation  is  the  Virginius  mine,  one  of  the  rich- 
est silver  properties  in  the  world.  The  shaft  was 
down  about  1,100  feet,  with  tunnels  in  every 
hundred  feet.  The  vein  is  a  true  fissure  and  it 
was  presumed  that  it  went  down  indefinitely. 
This  tunnel  was  designed  to  cut  the  shaft  of 
the  Virginius  at  2,000  feet  or  more  and  all  the 
veins  that  lay  in  the  course.  Much  expense  was 
saved  in  this  way,  and  ore  was  shipped  with 
less  inconvenience.  It  was  the  design  of  the 
owners,  by  moving  down  the  boarding  houses, 
and  placing  them  on  a  level  with  Porter's,  to 
diminish  the  dangers  of  snowslides.  The  whole 
plant  was  to  be  worked  by  electricity,  which  was 
beginning  to  be  used  in  mines  as  a  matter  of 
economy.  I  understand  the  tunnel  has  been 
completed  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  company, 
which  will  ship  silver  by  the  ton  when  the  free 
coinage  of  the  white  metal  becomes  an  accom- 
plished fact.  While  few  accidents  attended  the 

45 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

construction  of  the  tunnel,  there  was  one  in 
which  I  played  a  rather  conspicuous  part  and  at 
the  early  hour  of  two,  one  winter's  morning.  A 
telephone  message  reached  me,  announcing  that 
three  men  had  been  seriously  injured  in  a  mining 
disaster,  and  were  calling  for  the  priest  and  the 
doctor.  Doctor  Rowan  and  myself,  together  with 
the  undertaker  and  several  packhorses,  started 
for  the  scene  of  the  accident.  The  road  was  in 
very  bad  shape,  having  been  blocked  for  some 
time.  By  using  great  care  we  got  through  in  the 
dark  without  injury,  and  found  two  men  killed 
and  one  badly  wounded.  It  appeared  that  three 
men,  Robinson,  Maloney  and  Big  Paddy  Burns 
were  loading  holes,  before  retiring  from  their 
shift,  when  an  explosion  occurred.  The  two 
former  were  over  the  holes  and  Paddy  had  just 
put  down  a  box  of  dynamite  at  the  breast  of  the 
tunnel,  when,  without  a  moment's  warning,  the 
dynamite  went  off,  decapitating  Robinson  and 
exposing  his  lungs  to  view.  Maloney  was  struck 
over  the  eye  by  a  piece  of  rock,  which  was  forced 
through  the  skull,  and  his  brains  were  oozing 
out.  Big  Paddy  Burns,  who  was  standing  at 
Maloney 's  side,  was  knocked  down,  receiving  a 
shower  of  rock  canister  in  the  side  of  the  head. 
He  thought  he  was  killed,  and  bellowed  lustily 
for  the  priest.  The  men  who  were  around  gave 
him  a  stimulant  to  keep  him  alive,  until  the 
priest  arrived.  Paddy,  however,  bewailed  his 
sad  fate,  keeping  up  the  monotonous  cry:  "I'm 
dead,  I'm  dead.  Why  did  I  not  die  at  home  with 
my  father  ?"  This  cry  reached  my  ears  when  I 
hurried  in  to  see  Paddy.  I  said,  *  'There  is  nothing 
the  matter  with  you;  come,  no  more  of  this." 
The  poor  fellow  was  seriously  hurt,  but  the 

46 


FROM   DAU,AS    TO    TKLUTRIDB 

strength  of  his  voice  showed  that  he  was  far  from 
being  dead.  That  night  we  removed  him  to  the 
hospital,  where  he  remained  six  months,  during 
which  time  a  splinter  now  and  then  worked  its 
way  out  of  the  skull  to  the  great  amusement  of 
the  boys  and  the  dismay  of  Paddy.  ,  Finally,  he 
left  the  hospital  and  the  mountains,  too,  and  went 
back  to  the  north  of  Ireland,  where  I  trust  the 
faith  he  kept  so  well  in  this  country  will  grow 
with  the  years  to  come. 

Fred  and  myself  arrived  at  Porter's  safe  and 
sound.  Day  was  just  breaking  and  a  keen  wind 
was  sweeping  down  from  the  heights.  From 
Porter's  to  the  Virginius  there  is  a  burro  trail, 
which  is  not  wide  enough  for  a  horse,  especially 
when  going  up  a  mountain,  heavily  loaded. 
Swaying  from  side  to  side  and  stumbling  now  and 
again,  the  animal  must  rest  every  few  yards 
for  the  rarity  of  the  atmosphere  and  the  abrupt- 
ness of  the  ascent.  This  zigzag  manner  of  moving 
makes  the  distance  to  the  summit  three  times 
that  of  the  air  line.  The  snow  was  very  deep.  If 
the  horse  stepped  off  the  well- beaten  burro  track, 
he  was  sure  to  go  down,  carrying  the  rider  with 
him,  and  once  on  the  roll,  it  was  hard  to  tell 
where  he  would  stop. 

We  got  along  fairly  well,  until  we  came  within 
a  mile  of  the  Virginius.  The  higher  we  rose,  the 
colder  it  grew,  and  a  chilling  blast  came  over 
the  bare  heights,  filling  the  path  with  a  fine 
searching  snow.  Fred  was  in  the  lead  and 
carried  the  vestments.  I  had  the  chalice  and  other 
necessaries  stowed  away  behind  me  on  my  saddle 
in  a  small  hand  grip.  Fred  came  to  a  place 
which  was  full  of  drifted  snow.  Alighting,  he 
tramped  out  a  path  for  the  horse  as  nearly  as 

47 


IN    THE    SAN   JUAN 

possible  in  the  old  trail,  and  began  to  lead  the 
animal  over  it.  When  nearly  over  the  bad  place, 
the  horse  stepped  off  the  trail,  went  down  to  his 
neck,  floundered  a  little,  and  lay  there.  We 
tried  to  make  him  rise,  but  he  would  not  budge. 
At  last  we  put  a  rope  around  his  neck,  which  I 
pulled,  Fred  taking  him  by  the  tail,  and  we  slid 
him  over  the  danger  spot  and  got  him  to  his  feet. 
Meanwhile  my  horse  was  eying  the  operation, 
as  he  stood  quiet  on  the  trail.  Just  as  I  ap- 
proached him,  about  to  take  the  reins  and  lead 
him  over,  one  of  his  fore  feet  slipped  from  the 
path  on  the  up-hill  side.  I  pulled  him  back, 
but  as  I  pulled  too  hard  he  missed  the  trail  and 
lopped  over  on  the  other  side.  He  made  a 
tremendous  effort  to  regain  his  feet,  threw  his 
head  high  and  fell  backwards  down  the  moun- 
tain. I  let  the  reins  go  and  he  shot  down  over 
and  over,  breaking  through  the  frozen  snow  and 
missing  a  large  stump  by  about  a  foot.  Down 
the  mountain  side  he  sped,  crossing  the  trail 
two  hundred  yards  from  where  I  was  and  re- 
crossing  it  a  hundred  yards  further  down;  he 
stopped  about  twenty  feet  from  the  trail,  up  to  his 
neck  in  snow.  He  turned  around  and  tried  to 
come  back  to  the  trail,  but  after  a  few  fruitless 
efforts  to  release  himself  lay  down.  Fred  said  to 
me,  *  'You  might  as  well  shoot  him,  you  cannot 
get  him  back  on  the  trail  again,  besides  I  think 
he  is  badly  hurt. ' '  But  I  did  not  believe  it  and 
so  we  went  down  the  mountain.  The  horse  was 
uninjured,  and  neighed  at  our  approach.  We 
tramped  the  snow  and  moved  him  a  short  dis- 
tance; then  putting  a  rope  around  his  neck  I  got 
behind  a  tree  and  pulled,  while  Fred  pushed,  and 
by  this  means  we  brought  the  animal  close  to  the 

48 


FROM    DAU,AS    TO   TEUJJRIDE 

trail.  Then,  unsaddling  him,  we  put  the  saddle 
blanket  under  his  feet  and  finally  hauled  him  on 
to  the  trail.  There  we  tied  him  to  a  tree,  and 
upon  examining  the  grip  found  the  chalice  bent 
but  not  broken;  whereupon,  letting  the  horse 
loose,  we  turned  him  back  to  Porter's  and  we  on 
foot  went  up  to  the  Virginius.  The  other  horse  we 
drove  before  us  with  the  vestments  and  our  over- 
coats tied  upon  the  saddle.  We  were  glad  to 
reach  solid  ground  by  eight  o'clock  that  morning. 
We  turned  the  horse  over  to  the  care  of  the 
packers,  instructing  them  to  take  him  back  to 
Porter's,  where  they  were  to  feed  both  horses  un- 
til the  next  day,  when  we  expected  to  return  from 
Telluride. 

After  a  brief  rest,  we  resumed  our  journey. 
Back  of  the  Virginius  the  mountain  rises  at  an 
angle  of  over  forty-five  degrees.  Up,  then,  this 
almost  inaccessible  height,  which  at  that  season 
of  the  year  was  very  slippery,  were  two  heavy 
men  climbing,  heavily  burdened  and  puffing  like 
whales.  We  held  on  for  dear  life  at  every  step 
on  the  glary  mountain  side.  During  the  January 
thaw  several  men  had  come  over  the  range,  and, 
sinking  in  the  snow,  left  great  holes,  which  proved 
to  be  of  much  service  to  us,  for  by  taking  hold  of 
the  edges  and  putting  our  feet  in  the  old  tracks 
we  were  enabled  to  scramble  along  with  some 
sense  of  security.  From  time  to  time  we  rested 
for  a  moment  and  calculated  the  distance  we  had 
to  make.  After  much  backing  and  filling,  we 
arrived  at  the  top,  coming  out  on  a  desert  of 
broken  rocks  where  the  antediluvian  Titans 
played  baseball  with  mighty  boulders  and,  may- 
hap, employed  the  chain  gang  of  the  day  in 
working  out  their  fines.  After  another  pause  of 

49 


IN  THE  SAN  JUAN 

short  duration  for  rest  and  inspection  of  our  sur- 
roundings, we  sat  on  the  snow  and  looked  down 
on  the  Sheridan  mine,  which  seemed  to  be  within 
a  stone's  throw;  but  the  distance  down  that  hill- 
side in  the  light  atmosphere  was  deceiving. 
The  story  is  told  of  a  newcomer  who  fancied  he 
ran  the  risk  of  drowning  when  he  attempted  to 
cross  a  little  thread  of  water  that  lay  in  his  path 
on  the  plains  of  Colorado.  However  that  may 
be,  the  mine  seemed  to  be  much  nearer  to  us 
than  it  really  was.  Here  Fred  began  to  groan 
and  said  he  had  cramps.  He  threw  himself  at 
full  length  on  the  snow  and  fairly  screamed  with 
pain.  I  rubbed  him  and  gave  him  some  relief. 
He  was  so  exhausted  that  on  the  way  down  the 
mountain  I  had  to  shoulder  the  load  and  keep  far 
ahead  of  him.  Fasting  as  I  was,  how  I  longed 
to  break  off  a  piece  of  the  frozen  snow  and  cool 
my  burning  tongue  and  parched  lips!  The  crust 
on  the  snow  was  not  hard  enough  to  hold  me  up, 
so  again  I  picked  my  way  in  the  old  tracks, 
which  the  miners  had  made  coming  up  the  moun- 
tain; but  they  were  too  short  on  the  down  trip 
and  particularly  distressing  for  one  who  was 
much  fatigued.  We  stopped  at  intervals  to  breathe 
and  I  coaxed  and  encouraged  Fred  to  hold  out, 
the  Sheridan  being  near  at  hand.  Thus  step  by 
step  we  plodded  along  until  at  last,  ready  to  drop 
from  fatigue,  we  arrived  at  the  mine. 

We  telephoned  to  Telluride  that  we  would  be 
on  time  for  the  funeral.  Fred  took  some  hot 
coffee,  and  we  directed  our  course  to  Telluride. 
The  horses  were  good  and  had  sharp  shoes,  so 
there  was  little  danger  of  slipping.  I  took  the 
lead  and  did  not  spare  the  whip.  Along  the 
wall  of  the  mountain,  near  the  Sheridan  mill, 

50 


FROM  DALLAS'  TO  TKLLURIDK 

the  trail  is  very  narrow  and  skirted  by  a  prec- 
ipice. Unfortunately  a  burro  train  was  coming 
up  right  at  this  spot.  There  must  have  been 
more  than  one  hundred  burros  in  the  path- 
way. The  driver  was  cursing  and  swearing,  and 
a  Scotch  collie  kept  nipping  the  heels  of  the  don- 
keys. How  we  were  to  pass,  that  was  the  problem. 
Burros  will  not  leave  the  road  when  carrying  a 
load  and  they  move  so  mechanically  and,  it  may 
be  added,  stupidly,  that  they  crowd  one  into  the 
ditch.  Fred  cautioned  me  and  he  kept  on  the 
inside.  I  did  my  best  to  follow  him,  but  the 
burros  pushed  my  horse  over  to  the  edge,  and 
had  I  not  sprung  from  the  saddle,  quickly  backed 
the  animal  to  the  edge  and  kept  his  fore  feet  well 
on  the  road,  I  should  have  been  the  principal, 
and  not  the  witness,  of  a  funeral.  We  escaped 
serious  accident  in  the  sequel,  and  came  to  the 
little  valley  in  which  is  situated  the  city  of  Tel- 
luride. 

Again  Fred  *was  seized  with  the  cramps.  I  was 
obliged  to  help  him  out  of  the  saddle  and  lay  him 
on  the  roadside.  After  hard  rubbing  I  enabled 
him  to  rise  and  take  to  the  saddle.  At  that  time 
there  was  no  church,  Catholic  or  non- Catholic, 
there;  the  courthouse,  which  was  a  respectable 
building,  was  used  for  all  kinds  of  meetings,  and 
by  everyone.  Shows,  lectures,  dances,  revival 
meetings,  church  fairs  were  all  held  in  the  temple 
of  justice.  I  usually  said  mass  at  Mrs.  Margow- 
ski's,  but  on  state  occasions  I  went  to  the  court- 
house, and  on  this  occasion  the  funeral  services 
were  performed  there,  the  majority  of  those  pres- 
ent being  Cornish  men.  At  that  time  few  Amer- 
icans could  get  work  in  the  Sheridan  mine,  which 
employed  some  three  hundred  men.  The  Cor- 

51 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

trish  are  fine  looking  fellows,  with  broad  shoul- 
ders, of  a  stocky  build  and  swaggering  carriage. 
They  had  the  reputation  of  being  first-class 
miners,  it  may  have  been  because  in  their  native 
country  they  had  so  much  experience  in  this  line 
of  occupation.  There  were  hundreds  of  them  in 
Telluride,  where  they  practically  ran  the  town. 
Lovers  of  good  cheer,  the}'  spent  their  money 
freely,  and  fairly  made  the  town  howl  during 
their  all-night  carousals.  They  turned  out  by 
the  hundred  for  the  funeral  and  the  little  court- 
house was  packed.  I  said  mass  and  preached  an 
appropriate  discourse.  After  mass  I  took  break- 
fast and  by  the  time  the  friends  of  the  deceased 
had  taken  a  last  look  at  the  corpse  I  was  ready 
to  repair  to  the  L,one  Tree  Cemetery,  where  we 
left  all  that  was  mortal  of  poor  Flannigan. 

Returning,  I  said  my  office,  and  after  dinner 
made  some  parochial  visits  to  the  few  Catholics 
in  Telluride  and  informed  them  that  I  should  say 
mass  next  morning  at  Mrs.  MargoWski's.  Toward 
evening  I  paid  a  visit  to  Mr.  Ferdinand  Kramer, 
a  gentleman  who  is  known  to  the  world  of 
literature  under  the  nom  de  plume  of  " Credo." 
It  is  an  appropriate  designation  for  an  uncom- 
promising Catholic,  who  is  a  ripe  scholar,  hard 
student  and  polished  writer.  The  bent  of  his 
mind  is  philosophical,  but  no  subject  concerning 
man  and  his  best  interests  is  strange  to  Credo. 
His  style  of  composition  is  clear,  terse  and  ele- 
gant. Besides  devoting  himself  to  literary  work, 
he  has  skilfully  edited  a  weekly  newspaper  in  the 
south-western  country.  The  Colorado  Catholic 
contains  regular  contributions  from  the  facile  pen 
of  Mr.  Kramer.  A  graduate  of  Cornell  Uni- 
versity, and  by  profession  a  civil  engineer,  he  has 

52 


FROM   DALLAS    TO    TELLURIDK 

surveyed  much  of  the  San  Juan  country,  and  pos- 
sessing large  interests  in  one  of  the  great  enter- 
prises of  San  Miguel  County,  he  bids  fair  to  be- 
come one  of  the  wealthiest  and  most  useful  men 
in  that  section.  Often  before  the  morning  star 
veiled  its  face  in  the  light  of  the  sun  have  I  said 
mass  in  this  gentleman's  cabin  at  San  Miguel, 
and  just  as  often  has  he  approached  the  sacred 
table  to  refresh  himself  with  the  bread  of  angels. 
Breakfast  over,  we  sat  together  talking  on  liter- 
ary or  religious  subjects,  while  awaiting  the 
sound  of  the  Dallas-bound  stage. 

Next  morning  the  few  Catholics  of  the  town 
were  promptly  at  hand  and  many  of  them  received 
the  blessed  sacrament  of  the  Eucharist.  About 
nine  Fred  Thornton,  who  had  slept  most  of  the 
time  since  his  arrival  at  Telluride,  was  up  and 
ready  for  the  home  trip.  We  took  our  mounts 
and  started  for  the  Sheridan  mine,  upon  reaching 
which  our  programme  was  to  turn  our  horses 
back,  walk  up  to  the  top  of  the  range  and  then 
down  to  Porter's,  where  the  other  horses  had 
been  left  the  previous  day.  We  arrived  at  the 
top  of  the  range  by  one  o'clock  and  ate  the  sand- 
wiches which  the  thoughtful  Mrs.  Margowski 
had  put  into  our  grip  to  help  us  on  the  way. 
We  came  to  Porter's  in  good  time  and,  mounting 
our  horses,  rode  down  the  mountain  to  Ouray, 
which  we  reached  early  in  the  evening. 

As  the  reader  may  like  to  know  something 
more  of  the  companion  of  my  trip,  I  shall  add  a 
few  words  about  him.  The  following  spring  he 
went  with  his  partner  to  work  on  some  claims 
which  they  jointly  owned.  It  was  about  midsum- 
mer, and  I  happened  to  be  at  Silverton,  having 
gone  thither  the  previous  Saturday  for  the  Sun- 

53 


IN  THE  SAN  JUAN 

day  service.  In  the  afternoon  of  that  day  I  re- 
ceived word  by  telephone  that  Fred  Thornton 
was  dying  of  heart  disease,  and  that  I  must  make 
all  haste  to  Ouray.  I  had  just  then  one  of  the 
best  bronchos  in  that  country.  The  horse  was 
Jack  McMahon's  and  as  I  was  thinking  of  buying 
him,  the  owner  let  me  have  him  on  trial.  But  he 
had  a  chronic  saddle-sore  on  his  back,  which 
broke  out  from  time  to  time,  thus  rendering  him 
of  little  value  to  one  who  was  in  the  saddle  three 
days  of  the  week.  For  all  that  Bill  was  a  first- 
class  stepper;  he  could  trot,  pace  or  run.  I  rode 
the  animal  from  Rico  in  eight  hours,  stopping  an 
hour  at  Ophir,  and  crossing  two  ranges  of  moun- 
tains. I  had  a  heavy  saddle,  my  vestments  and 
overcoat.  It  was  equal  to  a  seventy-five  mile 
ride  on  the  level  road.  I  let  the  horse  go  slowly 
for  a  time,  until  he  got  warmed  up,  then  I  gave 
him  a  free  rein,  and  he  made  Red  Mountain  in 
fifty  minutes  and  Ouray  in  forty-five  more. 
Warm  and  tired,  the  animal  was  full  of  go  still, 
and  I  was  forced  to  pull  hard  on  the  reins  from 
Red  Mountain  to  Ouray.  My  arms  were  tired 
and  the  horse's  mouth  was  bleeding  from  his  con- 
stant champing  on  the  bit. 

I  found  Fred  sitting  up  in  the  chair,  but  after 
a  glance  at  him  saw  he  was  going  rapidly.  The 
blood  in  his  face  was  congested,  his  lips  were 
growing  purple,  and  he  began  to  exhibit  signs  of 
drowsiness.  He  raised  his  eyes,  put  out  his  cold 
hand  and  grasped  mine,  saying:  " Father,  you 
came  in  a  hurry."  I  said,  "Yes,  Fred,  I  was 
bound  to  be  here  in  time,  if  I  had  to  come  on  the 
saddle  without  a  horse."  Fred  smiled  and  said, 
"I  am  not  long  for  this  world,  I  believe  I  shall 
never  see  another  sunrise."  I  could  offer  no 

54 


FROM    DALLAS  TO 

word  of  encouragement  to  the  dying  man,  so  I 
told  him  to  prepare  for  death  and  I  adminivStered 
to  him  the  last  rites  of  the  church.  The  sisters 
repeated  the  prayers  for  the  dying  and  in  the 
hush  of  the  midnight,  his  soul  winged  its  flight 
to  the  better  land.  His  body,  with  that  of  many 
others,  lies  mouldering  in  Ouray's  cemetery, 
awaiting  the  final  resurrection,  when  there  will  be 
no  more  break-neck  rides  or  death-dealing  snow- 
slides. 


55 


FOURTH  SKETCH 

FROM  time  to  time  I  went  into  the  mountains 
and  held  religious  services  at  some  cabin 
which  was  a  centre  of  resort  for  the  neighbor- 
hood. Here,  on  the  long  winter  evenings,  as  well 
as  Sundays,  the  people  gathered, — the  young  to 
become  acquainted  with  one  another,  and  the  old 
to  exercise  their  ingenuity  in  arranging  matches 
for  their  children  and  friends.  The  sagacious 
dame  kept  a  watchful  eye  for  the  young  man  of 
steady  habits,  who  chanced  to  possess  the  fee  of  a 
large,  well-stocked  ranch.  Such  an  eligible  catch 
won  favor  with  the  eager  matron  whose  subtle 
strokes  of  diplomacy  began  with  the  regulation 
courtesy,  the  softest  chair  in  the  room  and  a 
pressing  invitation  to  tea.  It  put  one  in  mind  of 
the  old-fashioned  quilting  or  corn-husking  bee 
of  half  a  century  ago,  to  observe  the  lady's 
strategy,  and  it  would  take  such  keen  students  of 
manners  and  customs  as  were  the  writers  of  the 
Spectator  fitly  to  describe  the  delicate  manoeuvres 
of  the  wary  mother. 

In  my  parish,  there  were  several  of  those 
centres  where  I  used  to  say  mass,  teach  the 
children  Christian  doctrine  and,  upon  occasion, 
administer  the  sacraments,  and  not  one  of  them 
was  more  attractive  than  that  of  Sim  Noel,  whose 
name  tells  his  French  descent.  He  lived  on  the 
top  of  the  Divide  between  Dallas  and  Placerville, 
where,  at  an  elevation  of  about  10,000  feet, 
he  owned  a  ranch  of  five  or  six  hundred  acres. 
His  log  cabin  stood  close  to  the  stage  road,  in 
the  shelter  of  a  little  hill,  and  a  stream  of  spring 
water  softly  murmured  at  the  door-step,  inviting 

56 


g 


w 
% 

CO 


I 


A  SOCIAL  AND   RELIGIOUS   CENTER 

the  passing  cavalier  to  stop  and  let  his  broncho 
drink  from  the  overflowing  trough  that  was  con- 
siderately set  there.  If  he  was  given  to  soci- 
ability he  spent  a  few  moments  in  small  talk 
with  such  members  of  the  family  as  were  en- 
gaged in  out-door  occupations.  Sim  kept  what 
might  be  called  a  road-house  and  the  ladies  were 
skilled  in  preparing  a  good  meal  for  the  way- 
farer,— fresh  milk,  fresh  eggs  and  fresh  veal  with 
rare  vegetables  from  the  root  house,  fresh  at 
any  season  of  the  year — making  the  wayside  inn  a 
delectable  place  of  refreshment  for  the  most  ex- 
acting traveler.  In  the  summer  the  trout  forced 
their  way  up  the  stream  to  the  very  door,  and 
when  crisped  on  the  pan,  constituted  a  palatable 
tidbit  for  the  epicure.  That  '  Sim  had  cosmo- 
politan tendencies  may  be  inferred  from  the  cir- 
cumstance that  one  of  his  sons-in-law  was  an 
Irishman,  another  a  Frenchman  and  a  tjiird  an 
American;  and  that  his  ways  were  progressive, 
appeared  from  the  fact  that  some  of  the  girls  of 
his  family  were  expert  rifle  shots,  standing  in  the 
front  rank  of  the  Ouray  Rifle  Club. 

A  few  miles  from  this  place,  and  to  the  south- 
east, old  SnefHes,  with  his  flossy  locks  of  purest 
white,  stood  grand,  placid  and  serene  as  the 
summer  sea  in  the  sunlight.  To  the  south,  thous- 
ands of  acres  of  fertile  land  stretched  away, 
with  pines  of  ample  girth  so  distributed  as  to 
offer  pleasing  retreats  for  camping  out.  At  this 
altitude  it  is  unnecessary  to  irrigate  the  soil,  the 
rainfall  in  the  spring  and  the  summer  being  co- 
pious, and  wheat,  oats,  potatoes,  timothy,  with  a 
variety  of  vegetables,  are  produced  in  great 
abundance.  This  favored  region  is  a  paradise 
for  stock  in  summer  and  autumn.  Through  the 

57 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

openings  of  pine  and  spruce  on  the  plateau,  the 
grass  in  some  places  grows  two  feet  high.  The 
luxuriant  vegetation,  the  different  kinds  of 
grasses,  the  flowers,  the  climbing  vines,  the  rich 
soil,  remind  one  of  the  tropics,  but,  the  period  of 
growth  being  very  short,  cereals,  vegetables  and 
fruits  indigenous  to  the  altitude,  mature  quickly. 
A  warm  night  is  as  strange  as  snow  in  the  Sa- 
hara desert,  so  you  may  rest  comfortable  un- 
der a  pair  of  blankets  the  hottest  night.  To  the 
east,  this  lofty  tableland  falls  in  undulating  slopes 
to  the  valley  of  the  Dallas.  A  stream  of  the 
same  name,  rising  in  the  dense  timber  at  the  foot 
of  Mount  Sneffles  on  the  north,  drains  the  low- 
lands, forms  a  junction  with  the  Uncompaghre 
and  flowing  on  to  Montrose,  swells  the  volume  of 
the  river  Grand.  To  the  west,  the  land  declines 
gently  to  the  canon  of  the  San  Miguel,  where, 
far  below,  the  river'  San  Miguel,  with  musical 
cadence,  rushes  on  to  join  the  waters  that  flow 
into  the  Pacific.  To  the  south,  at  a  distance  of 
nine  or  ten  miles  Tellurideward,  the  country  is 
rough,  hilly,  and  not  well  adapted  for  cultivation, 
but  there  are  many  well-tilled  valleys,  and  the 
adjoining  hills  provide  a  rich  supply  of  fuel  and 
grass.  It  was  in  this  charming  vicinity  that  now 
and  then  I  pitched  nry  tent,  attended  to  the  spir- 
itual wants  of  the  scattered  flock,  and  enjoyed 
Sim  Noel's  hospitality.  It  was  in  summer  an 
agreeable  place  to  spend  a  few  days,  but  the  cold 
in  winter  is  so  severe  as  to  leave  aching  memories 
of  the  season. 

One  summer  Father  S — k,  of  Chicago,  came 
to  Ouray.  He  was  in  search  of  mineral  speci- 
mens, flowers,  bugs,  or  any  natural  curiosities 
that  might  promote  the  study  of  science.  Al- 


A  SOCIAL  AND   RELIGIOUS   CENTER 

though  a  man  of  sixty-eight  years,  he  braved 
the  great  altitudes  and  dense  woods  of  south- 
western Colorado  with  all  the  alacrity  of  a  young 
man,  and  he  lost  no  opportunity  of  ministering 
to  the  religious  needs  of  the  Slavs  and  Scandina- 
vians in  the  mountains.  Distinguished  as  a 
professor,  scientist  and  polyglot,  he  was  a  zealous 
missionary,  worthy  of  the  days  of  the  apostles. 
Chicago,  notably  St.  Ignatius'  College  in  that 
city  owes  no  small  debt  of  gratitude  to  the  reverend 
scientist  for  the  magnificent  collection  of  miner- 
als, flora  and  insects  which  he  made  on  his 
mountain  trips.  Upon  mentioning  the  purpose 
of  his  visit  I  suggested  an  outing  in  the  region 
I  have  tried  to  describe.  Father  S — k  was 
pleased  and  grateful  for  the  offer.  I  furnished 
the  tent  and  horses,  and  we  took  with  us  rations 
for  three  days.  I  had  a  big  black  horse  which 
had  the  habit  of  balking.  He  was  also  some- 
what foundered,  and  shied  from  time  to  time  on 
mountain  roads.  Once  I  had  a  rather  droll  mis- 
adventure, while  riding  this  animal  under  some 
trees.  All  of  a  sudden  he  sprang  aside  and  left 
me,  like  Absalom,  hanging  to  a  branch,  not  by 
the  hair,  but  by  the  hands.  For  the  capricious 
animal  I  paid  the  snug  sum  of  eighty  dollars, 
and,  upon  the  recommendation  of  a  Christian 
gentleman.  I  pause  a  moment  to  remark, 
" What  fools  we  mortals  be!"  So,  one  glorious 
morning,  about  the  first  of  September,  Father 
S — k,  Father  L, — n, — a  friend  of  no  mean  avoir- 
dupois, who  was  staying  with  me, — Bobby 
Burns,  the  cook,  and  myself  set  out  on  our  expe- 
dition in  the  interests  of  religion  and  science.  We 
thought  at  first  that  Sim  Noel's  place  would  be 
a  convenient  headquarters  for  our  campaign, 

59 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

but  on  reconsidering  the  matter,  unanimously 
agreed  that  the  proper  thing  was  to  camp  out.  We 
had  our  coats,  blankets  and  guns, — in  a  word,  a 
commissariat,  fit  for  a  descent  on  Cuba.  The  first 
fifteen  miles  of  the  journey  we  covered  without 
an  accident  and  arrived  at  the  little  town  of 
Ridgeway,  which  lies  at  the  junction  of  the  Rio 
Grande  Southern  and  the  Ouray  branch  from 
Montrose.  The  town  enjoyed  stirring  times 
while  the  railroad  was  in  process  of  construction 
to  Telluride,  but  when  the  latter  was  completed, 
the  depreciation  in  the  value  of  silver  made 
money  scarce  and  Ridgeway  dull.  There  were 
few  Catholics  in  the  place,  but  for  all  that  we 
erected  a  neat  little  church.  I  may  say  here 
that  I  put  in  some  days  of  as  hard  work  on  that 
little  edifice,  as  well  as  on  one  at  the  neighboring 
town  of  Ironton,  as  I  ever  did  on  Iowa's  broad 
prairies,  standing  before  the  canvas  of  a  Marsh 
harvester  or  beating  out  the  share  of  a  breaking- 
plow. 

As  you  skirt  the  foot  hills  a  mile  out  from 
Ridgeway,  the  road  takes  a  sharp  turn  into  the 
mountains  and  the  ascent  is  quite  precipitous.  I 
had  a  pretty  good  load  on  the  express  wagon,  the 
horse  hitched  up  with  the  black  was  light  but 
gritty,  and  I  took  a  run  at  the  hill.  Just  as  I  got 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  top  the  black  horse  took 
it  into  his  head  to  balk,  stopped  and  began  to 
back  down.  I  whipped,  the  horse  kicked  and 
the  reverend  Fathers  shouted  and  besought  me  to 
let  them  out;  but  I  would  not  accede  to  their 
wishes  and  they  were  afraid  to  jump,  as  one  was 
old  and  the  other  a  heavy-weight.  The  horse 
kept  letting  the  wagon  down,  and  I  had  great 
trouble  to  keep  the  road  without  tipping  over. 


A  SOCIAI,  AND   RELIGIOUS   CENTER 

At  last  I  allowed  my  companions  to  alight,  and 
procuring  a  stout  stick,  made  the  refractory 
black  go  up  the  hill  on  the  jump.  It  was  two  in 
the  afternoon  when  we  chose  a  camping  ground, 
expecting  to  move  on  later  in  the  day.  Having 
fed  the  horses  and  taken  our  lunch,  with  rifle  in 
hand  I  strolled  forth  in  search  of  a  deer,  while 
Father  L, — n  took  a  shotgun  and  Sam,  the  Irish 
setter,  and  went  gunning  for  grouse.  Father 
S — k  was  turning  over  logs,  looking  for  bugs, 
and  Bobby  Burns  was  making  preparations  to 
dine  the  clergy  in  the  evening.  Plunging  into 
the  dense  growth  of  pines  I  advanced  far  down 
the  slope  for  an  hour  or  more,  until  the  sun 
warned  me  that  it  was  time  to  retrace  my  steps; 
so  I  swung  around  in  a  half  circle,  expecting  to 
make  camp  before  dark.  Suddenly  I  heard  two 
or  three  deer  rushing  through  the  woods  at  a 
high  rate  of  speed,  but  I  could  see  none.  I 
thought  of  the  bears  which  were  quite  numerous 
in  the  dark  glens  and  thick  underbrush,  but  I 
must  confess  I  had  no  desire  to  meet  them  just 
then. 

Bears  are  still  numerous  in  some  parts  of  Colo- 
rado and  a  person  has  a  feeling  of  loneliness,  if  not 
dread,  when  in  the  thick  timber,  deep  canons,  or 
on  the  lonely  trails  most  likely  to  be  frequented  by 
those  savage  animals.  Several  years  ago  a  miner 
going  over  the  trail  between  Rico  and  Durango 
had  an  encounter  with  a  bear,  which  deserves 
mention  in  these  sketches.  The  miner  was  un- 
armed and  pursuing  his  way  over  the  short  cuts 
and  trails  which  lead  hither  and  thither  from  the 
main  road.  He  had  not  even  so  much  as  a  jack- 
knife  or  a  good  stick  with  which  he  might  defend 
himself.  Leaving  the  main  road  to  shorten  his 

61 


IN  THE  SAN  JUAN 

way,  he  plunged  down  the  gulches  over  the  wooded 
hills  and  through  the  dense  copse  of  underbrush, 
following  a  cattle  path  or  deer  trail.  Coming  to 
one  of  those  scrub-oak  hills  he  found  himself  in 
a  small  park  in  the  midst  of  the  thicket.  What 
was  his  horror  on  looking  around,  when  he  be- 
held a  large  cinnamon  bear!  There  she  stood 
with  her  two  cubs.  For  a  moment  the  man  was 
seized  with  fright  and  before  he  could  realize  his 
situation,  she  turned  and,  rising  on  her  hind  feet, 
came  toward  him  with  open  jaws  and  outstretched 
paws.  There  was  no  opportunity  to  run,  for 
she  began  the  fight  at  once.  He  was  a  power- 
fully built  man  but  had  only  muscle  and  a  thinly 
clad  body  to  oppose  claws  four  or  five  inches 
long  and  teeth  which  could  easily  crush  the  arm 
of  a  giant.  For  a  few  moments  the  miner  par- 
ried the  blows  as  best  he  could,  but  always  with 
the  loss  of  a  part  of  his  clothing,  which  was  torn 
away  by  the  long  claws  of  the  bear.  Finally, 
having  lacerated  his  arms  and  breast,  with  one 
fell  stroke  she  opened  his  scalp  to  the  back  of  his 
neck,  knocking  him  down  and  placing  her  huge 
paws  on  his  breast  ready  to  devour  him.  In- 
stinctively she  turned  to  look  for  her  cubs  and  as 
they  were  not  in  sight,  left  her  bleeding  victim 
and  hastened  in  the  direction  they  had  taken. 
The  miner  fainted.  How  long  he  lay  there  he 
knew  not.  At  last  he  came  to,  and  to  his  horror 
heard  the  bear  crushing  through  the  brush  at  no 
great  distance.  Gathering  his  remaining 
strength  and  staggering  from  his  great  loss  of 
blood,  he  dragged  himself  to  his  feet  and  fled 
along  the  trail  with  all  the  haste  he  could  make. 
He  at  length  reached  a  farm  house  and  was  taken 
at  once  to  Durango,  where  the  physician  sewed 

62 


A  SOCIAL  AND    RELIGIOUS   CENTER 

up  his  torn  scalp  and  body.     After  many  months 
he  got  well  and  still  lives. 

The  next  morning  four  stalwart  hunters  left 
Durango  to  visit  Mrs.  Bruin.  They  had  scarcely 
entered  her  dominions  when  they  espied  her  on 
a  little  hillside;  she,  too,  was  on  the  alert  and  saw 
them.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation  she  came 
down  to  meet  them.  The  cubs  followed  her,  but, 
mother-like,  she  turned  round  and  pushed  them 
back  with  her  nose.  One  of  the  cubs  still  perse- 
vered in  coming,  and  going  back  she  struck  him 
on  the  head  with  her  open  paw  and  sent  him 
back  up  the  hill  howling.  The  hunters  waited 
until  she  got  within  fifty  yards  and  then  poured 
into  her  big  body  a  deadly  volley  which  laid  her 
low.  The  cubs  were  treated  in  the  same  manner 
as  their  mother  and  the  boys  returned  to  town 
proud  of  their  trophies. 

Meanwhile  the  darkness  was  closing  around 
me,  and  I  found  I  was  lost.  Deer  trails  and 
cattle  trails  crossed  and  recrossed  one  another, 
so  that  I  could  not  take  my  bearings.  After 
groping  to  and  fro  in  a  place  that,  to  my  disturbed 
fancy,  seemed  not  unlike  the  fathomless  abyss  of 
Schiller's  Diver,  I  was  delighted  when  I  came  to 
a  little  opening,  and,  standing  upon  a  high  rock, 
fired  off  my  rifle  three  times  at  intervals  of  about 
three  minutes  and  waited  for  an  answer.  After 
the  third  report  I  caught  to  the  left,  and  in  the 
opposite  direction  from  which  I  had  been  mov- 
ing, the  dull  sound  of  a  shotgun;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  was  in  camp.  Bobby  was  not  there  and 
my  two  clerical  friends  had  retired  for  the  night, 
each  having  chosen  a  pine  tree  as  a  back  stop. 
This  novel  kind  of  couch  they  adopted  as  no 
tent  had  been  put  up.  The  fire  was  burning  low 

63 


IN    THE    SAN   JUAN 

and  I  replenished  it  so  that  I  might  have  some 
warm  supper.  Having  refreshed  the  inner  man  I 
turned  in,  or  rather  out,  and  wrapped  in  my  ulster 
and  blanket,  supported  my  back  against  a  tree. 
I  tried  to  sleep,  but  sleep  under  such  circumstances 
was  not  easy.  The  night  turned  bitterly  cold  and 
every  little  while  I  arose,  dragged  a  few  logs  to 
the  fire,  and  cheered  up  my  companions  with  the 
blaze,  which,  owing  to  their  remote  position  un- 
der the  trees,  imparted  to  them  more  light  than 
warmth.  Father  S — k  complained  of  having 
chills,  and  Father  I, — n  could  stand  the  cold  no 
longer,  so  I  got  up  once  more  and  found  every- 
thing covered  with  a  thick  hoar  frost.  Upon  in- 
specting the  contents  of  the  wagon  I  discovered 
some  more  clothes,  which  I  distributed  among  my 
companions  and  piled  more  wood  on  the  fire.  I 
decanted  into  a  little  pail  some  wine  which  we 
had  taken  for  an  emergency  and  placed  the  pail 
on  the  fire.  It  did  not  take  long  to  boil,  and 
pouring  out  a  liberal  dose  of  the  medicine  into  a 
tin  cup,  I  approached  Father  S — k,  who  was  in 
a  shivering  condition,  and  at  the  point  of  a  gun 
commanded  him  to  drink  it  down.  Father  L — n 
was  obliged  to  submit  to  the  same  imperious 
treatment,  and  then  the  medicine  man  bethought 
himself  that  he,  too,  was  on  the  point  of  a  chill. 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  we  all  felt  better  for  the 
seasonable  decoction;  but  sleep  for  the  night  had 
fled  from  our  eyes,  and  we  sat  around  the  fire, 
while  Father  S — k  indulged  in  long  and  divert- 
ing accounts  of  his  scientific  explorations. 

With  the  dawn  Bobby  appeared  on  the  scene 
and  proceeded  to  get  breakfast.  He  explained 
his  absence  by  saying  that  he  had  gone  to  a 
logging  camp  a  mile  away,  and  finding  good  quar- 

64 


A  SOCIAL  AND   RELIGIOUS   CENTER 

ters  there,  remained  over  night.  After  breakfast 
we  resolved  to  decamp.  We  could  not  find 
Father  L, — n's  Sunday  coat,  a  fine  broadcloth, 
and  looked  everything  over  and  over,  but  to 
no  purpose.  We  concluded  that  it  had  been  lost 
the  previous  day;  so,  jumping  on  one  of  the  horses, 
I  rode  back  a  distance  of  three  miles  to  the  main 
road,  but  found  no  coat.  The  Fathers  had  in  the 
meantime  searched  the  camp  again  and  again,  and 
when  they  beheld  me  on  my  return  empty  handed, 
they  seemed  to  be  quite  disappointed.  I  drew  in 
my  horse,  and  facing  them  cried  out,  '  'No  coat' ' ; 
just  then  I  noticed  that  Father  S — k  looked  quite 
bulky  and  I  inquired,  "Father,  how  many  coats 
have  you  on?' '  ' 'Of  course  only  my  own,"  he  re- 
plied. I  sprang  from  the  horse  and  going  up  to 
him  discovered  to  my  surprise  that  he  was  wear- 
ing three  coats,  one  of  which,  upon  examination, 
proved  to  be  the  Sunday  broadcloth.  We  were 
all  well  pleased  and  had  a  good  laugh  at  Father 
S — k.  Having  cleared  up  the  camp,  we  departed 
on  the  journey  home  and  reached  Ouray  that 
evening,  deerless,  grouseless,  but  not  fo/£-less, 
for  Father  S — k  carried  back  with  him  a  fair  sup- 
ply of  beetles  and  also  some  mineral  specimens. 

A  few  weeks  after  our  excursion  I  received  a 
sick  call  to  the  head  of  Turkey  Creek,  which  is 
all  of  fifty-five  miles  from  Ouray.  The  message 
came  in  the  early  evening,  and  I  set  out  on  horse- 
back with  the  messenger.  Long  before  we 
reached  the  summit  of  the  divide,  darkness  had 
set  in,  and  as  we  approached  Sim  Noel's  a  north 
wind,  accompanied  by  a  drenching  rain,  swept 
over  the  treeless  hills  that  embrace  the  creek. 
The  lightning  played  on  the  hills  and  sent 
through  the  low  drifting  clouds  intermittent 

65 


IN   THE  SAN  JUAN 

flashes  of  brightness  which  illumined  the  inky 
darkness  of  our  way.  From  Noel's  to  Placer- 
ville  the  road  is  down  hill  for  fourteen  miles. 
The  rain  came  down  with  full  force,  and  in  some 
places  the  horses  could  scarcely  keep  their  feet. 
Our  progress  therefore  was  slow,  and  it  must  have 
been  after  eleven  o'clock  when  we  reached  Placer- 
ville.  We  remained  at  the  hotel  for  an  hour,  fed 
our  horses  and  then  resumed  our  journey  up  the 
Miguel  to  the  mouth  of  Turkey  Creek.  The 
rain  was  still  falling,  but  not  so  heavily  as 
to  make  it  uncomfortable  in  the  saddle.  The 
clouds  were  breaking  and  drifting  in  leaden 
banks,  and  now  and  then  showers  beat  into  our 
faces.  The  wagon  road  up  the  creek  is  a  miser- 
able affair,  and  at  that  time  it  was  washed  out  and 
cut  up  by  the  rain  of  the  past  month.  Our 
jaded  beasts  were  permitted  to  have  their  own 
way,  so  for  fully  eight  miles  we  advanced  very 
slowly.  Time  and  again  the  horses,  unable  to 
proceed,  stood  and  panted.  About  two  in  the 
morning  the  rain  began  to  come  down  again  in 
torrents.  Fortunately  being  near  an  old  mining 
camp  at  the  head  of  the  creek,  where  there  was 
a  village  of  empty  houses,  we  dismounted  and 
led  our  horses  into  one  of  the  vacant  dwellings. 
Our  mackintoshes  had  kept  us  dry  and  excepting 
our  knees,  we  were  in  fairly  good  trim.  Lying 
down  in  a  corner  of  the  cabin  we  went  to  sleep, 
exhausted  from  our  long  ride,  and  when  we  woke 
it  was  broad  daylight.  We  led  out  our  horses 
and  let  them  eat  of  the  long  grass  which  grew 
there,  and  then  mounting,  we  hastened  to  the  sick 
man.  The  head  of  Turkey  Creek  meant,  I  ascer- 
tained, a  vast  area  of  country,  for  it  was  noon 
when  we  drew  up  at  a  cabin  not  far  from  the 

66 


A  SOCIAL  AND   REUGIOUS   C3NTKR 

Unaweep.  The  country  which  we  had  traversed 
was  new  to  me  and  my  wonder  was  excited  at 
the  rich  soil,  heavy  grasses  and  bountiful  supply 
of  streams  and  timber  which  characterized  it. 
Deer  were  very  plentiful  and  many  coveys  of 
grouse  were  visible  on  the  trail. 

We  found  the  sick  man  in  an  advanced  stage 
of  consumption  and  after  a  series  of  fresh  hem- 
orrhages; but  although  in  his  last  moments,  he 
was  cheerful  and  happy.  He  had  come  from 
New  York  to  the  west;  and  to  regain  his  health, 
plunged  into  the  very  depths  of  the  pine  forest, 
the  odorous  balsam  of  which  is  beneficial  to  those 
who  have  weak  lungs.  But  he  came  too  late,  as 
was  evident  from  his  emaciated  condition,  and  he 
had  but  a  short  time  on  earth.  His  ardent 
desire  was  to  live  long  enough  to  return  east  and 
see  his  mother.  He  spoke  of  death  and  the  here- 
after with  a  loftier  cheerfulness  and  calmness 
than  Plato's  master,  and  while  lamenting  the 
separation  from  his  mother,  which  he  knew  was 
near  at  hand,  he  prayed  earnestly  that  his 
Heavenly  Father  would  grant  him  the  happiness 
of  seeing  her  once  more.  After  my  arrival  he 
grew  rapidly  better  and  became  even  more  ani- 
mated, which  was  no  doubt  due  to  the  grace  of 
the  last  sacraments  of  the  church.  The  young 
man  had  every  comfort  which  money  could  pro- 
cure,— a  servant  to  wait  on  him,  a  choice  assort- 
ment of  books,  musical  instruments  and  even  a 
kodak.  The  servant  man  was  a  queer  customer. 
His  master  called  him  ' 'Shinny,"  and  the  nick- 
name may  have  found  some  authority  for 
its  use  in  the  singular  character  of  the  man;  but 
he  wa$  faithful  and  thoughtful  for  the  invalid, 
for  whom  he  considered  nothing  too  good.  From 

67 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

the  brook,  which  was  close  by  the  cabin,  he  caught 
the  trout  which  he  cooked  with  good  taste;  he 
scoured  the  woods  for  young  grouse  and  sought 
far  and  wide  everything  that  was  likely  to  give 
an  appetite  to  the  sick  man.  In  his  search  for 
game  his  daily  companion  was  a  hairless  Mexican 
dog,  whose  bare  state  caused  the  burros  to  lift  up 
their  philosophical  winkers  in  admiration.  On  one 
occasion  Shinny  tracked  a  deer  and  followed  him 
over  a  ridge  through  the  thick  oak  brush,  but  of 
course  the  fleet  animal  got  away  from  the  unso- 
phisticated hunter,  and  the  sportsman  returned 
home,  disgusted.  But  he  acquired  some  experi- 
ence, for  that  night  he  tossed  and  scratched  con- 
tinually. In  the  morning  he  found  himself  cov- 
ered with  wood-ticks;  it  was  a  case  where  the 
biter  gets  bitten,  and  indeed  it  is  no  easy  task  to 
get  rid  of  those  little  insects  that  burrow  deep 
into  the  flesh.  Shinny's  speech  had  the  cockney 
peculiarity,  as  he  never  sounded,  not  the  h,  but 
the  r,  in  his  words  when  it  was  proper  to  do  so, 
as  he  himself  said  he  was  a  gentleman  from 
Boston,  and  presumably,  therefore,  a  person  of 
culture.  He  also  possessed  the  not  uncommon 
ability  of  talking  on  a  subject  of  which  he  knew 
little  if  anything,  and  his  bump  of  curiosity  was 
so  well  developed  that  it  did  not  take  him  long  to 
learn  something  of  the  history  of  everyone  he 
met.  In  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  however, 
like  persons  of  his  prying  quality,  he  sometimes 
encountered  laughable  rebuffs.  His  master  told 
me  that  a  stranger  who  rode  on  the  train  between 
Kansas  City  and  Durango,  with  Shinny  and  him- 
self, got  even  with  the  former,  who  had  his  eyes 
and  ears  open  all  along  the  route  and  was  swal- 
lowing in  everything  he  heard  and  saw.  Having 


A  SOCIAL  AND   RKIvIGIOUS   CENTER 

been  bred  in  a  great  city,  his  ideas  of  the  country 
and  agricultural  arts  were  like  Horace  Greeley's 
knowledge  of  farming.  While  passing  through 
the  prairies  he  saw  many  stacks  of  wheat,  of 
which  he  knew  nothing,  so  he  applied  for  infor- 
mation to  the  stranger.  He  was  to  the  soil  born 
and  dilating  on  the  subject  of  wheat  raising,  ex- 
plained minutely  everything  connected  with  it, 
from  the  time  the  seed  went  into  the  ground 
until  the  consumer  bought  the  loaf  of  bread. 
The  gentleman  also  descanted  upon  oats,  barley, 
potatoes,  in  fact  everything  that  grew,  to  the 
child-like  delight  of  Shinny,  who,  when  the  train 
reached  Durango,  saw  a  big  Navajo  Indian 
standing  on  the  platform.  This  was  a  reve- 
lation to  him.  The  strange  being  was  arrayed 
in  a  calico  dress  of  many  colors,  his  shirt  waist 
was  trimmed  in  beads  and  shells,  his  hair  in  a 
knot  of  braid  fell  over  his  shoulders,  and  his 
trousers  had  various  stripes,  while  on  his  head 
rested  a  large  Mexican  hat  with  a  leather  strap 
for  a  band,%  and  flung  in  a  careless  manner  over 
his  left  shoulder  was  a  beautiful  blanket.  He 
was  talking  to  a  white  man  and  was  greatly 
worked  up  over  something.  Shinny  was  all  on 
fire  to  know  who  he  was,  so  although  his  oblig- 
ing companion  was  helping  the  sick  man  with  his 
baggage,  the  man  from  Boston  could  not  restrain 
his  curiosity,  but  running  up  cried  out,  '  'Tell  me, 
sir,  who  is  that?  What  countryman  is  he? 
Where  does  he  come  from?"  The  stockman 
turned  quickly  around  and  replied:  "I  should 
judge  from  his  general  get  up  and  all  he  has  to 
say,  that  he  is  a  gentleman  from  Boston. "  The 
crest-fallen  Shinny  had  no  more  to  say  that  day. 
I  remained  with  the  sick  man  until  ten  o'clock 


IN  THE   SAN  JUAN 

the  next  day  and  then  went  by  West  Dolores 
to  Rico,  where  I  said  mass  the  following  Sunday. 
I  organized  a  committee  of  Catholics  and  took 
suitable  steps  for  the  construction  of  a  church, 
which  materialized  under  the  supervision  of  my 
successors. 

Next  day  I  started  from  Rico  to  Ouray  by  way 
of  Trout  Lake,  which  is  a  romantic  sheet  of 
water.  Nestled  in  the  bosom  of  mountains  of 
solid  rock,  it  teems  with  mountain  trout,  and  is  an 
ideal  spot  for  the  fisherman  who  has  not  the  pa- 
tience to  sit  on  a  log  for  hours  and  wait  for  a 
bite.  It  is  also  the  source  of  the  power  used  in 
some  of  the  adjacent  mines.  Not  many  miles  to 
the  west  is  the  famous  Mount  Wilson,  the  shin- 
ing guide  to  many  a  lone  traveler  on  the  moun- 
tain trail. 

Following  the  old  trail,  which  worms  its  way 
from  Trout  Lake  to  Ophir,  I  came  out  in  a  little 
canon,  at  the  head  of  which  is  Ophir  camp.  A 
stream  of  clear  water,  which  forms  a  junction 
with  the  San  Miguel  a  short  distance  below, 
rushes  along  at  a  rapid  rate.  At  this  point  the 
spectator  beholds  one  of  the  grandest  feats  of  en- 
gineering in  the  state  on  the  Rio  Grande  South- 
ern. To  the  ordinary  layman,  the  impossible 
would  confronthimin  the  construction  of  this  aerial 
line  of  travel.  Like  a  serpent,  wriggling  along 
these  mighty  walls  of  granite,  or  stealing  cautious- 
ly over  a  trestle  work  far  above  the  ground,  the 
iron  horse  may  be  seen  day  after  day  making  its 
way  to  Ridgeway  to  deliver  mineral  and  passen- 
gers on  the  way  to  Denver  and  the  east.  A  short 
distance  higher  up  the  town  of  Ophir  is  situated, 
rich  in  auriferous  ores,  and  containing  some  of 
the  most  valuable  mines  in  the  whole  country. 

70 


A  SOCIAL  AND   RELIGIOUS   CENTER 

Time  and  money  will  make  this  forgotten  camp 
one  of  the  best  in  the  southwest.  A  hotel  and 
livery  stable,  with  a  few  neat  cottages  dotting  the 
hillsides  around,  constitute  the  town.  Here  I 
took  dinner,  rested  my  broncho  for  an  hour,  and 
speeding  homeward,  jumped  from  the  saddle  in 
Ouray  that  evening,  after  a  journey  of  over  fifty 
miles. 

The  following  November  I  received  from  the 
mother  of  the  young  man  of  whom  I  have 
spoken  a  letter  thanking  me,  at  the  request  of 
her  son,  for  the  little  acts  of  kindness  I  had 
shown  him,  and  informing  me  that  two  weeks 
before  he  had  passed  to  the  great  beyond.  Per- 
haps she  retained  in  her  service  the  faithful 
Shinny  to  lighten  the  burden  it  pleased  God  to 
put  upon  her,  and  that  he  recounts  to  her  in  his 
own  chatty  way  the  many  strange  things  which 
he  saw  and  heard  in  the  land  of  mountains  and 
plains, 


71 


FIFTH  SKETCH 

WE  had  a  literary  society  during  the  winter 
months  in  Ouray.  The  society  was  small; 
so  much  the  better,  perhaps,  for  individ- 
uality of  character  is  often  lost  in  big  societies, 
but  the  few  members  who  were  seriously  given 
to  self-improvement  have  attained  distinction. 
The  aim  of  the  association  was  practical,  and 
questions — moral,  social  and  economical — occa- 
sioned lively  debate.  While  the  speculative  was 
not  ignored,  the  main  purpose  was  to  teach 
how  to  do  the  right  thing  at  the  right  time,  and 
educate  the  members  to  be  useful.  The  pro- 
ceedings of  the  meetings,  which  were  held  once 
a  week,  were  orderly,  and  little  time  was  spent 
on  the  minutes  of  the  previous  meetings  or  per- 
sonal explanations,  or  wasted  in  mere  rhetorical 
display.  It  was  in  a  word  a  school  of  sense,  not 
of  show. 

At  that  time  the  Irish  Land  League  under  the 
eminent  but  ill-starred  Parnell  engaged  the  at- 
tention of  Europe  and  America.  I  had  been 
more  or  less  identified  with  the  Irish  cause  from 
a  boy,  and  was  deeply  interested  in  the  plans 
that  were  devised  by  intelligent  and  patriotic 
sons  of  Ireland  to  procure  home  rule,  national 
independence  and,  consequently,  prosperity  for  the 
land  of  my  ancestors.  To  prove  my  sympathy 
with  the  aspirations  of  the  home-rulers,  I  occa- 
sionally delivered  a  lecture  relating  to  that  sub- 
ject; sometimes  I  spoke  on  other  topics  which 
pleased  my  fancy,  while  promoting  the  well-be- 
ing of  our  association. 

The  members  of  the  society  prepared  for  a 
grand  celebration  of  Patrick's  Day,  and  one  of 


CELEBRATION    OF  A   FESTIVAL 

the  features  of  the  commemoration  was  a  lecture 
which  I  was  to  give  on  the  land  question  in  Ire- 
land. There  was  to  be  a  play,  too,  and  many 
beautiful  recitations,  ranging  from  Shamus 
O'Brien  to  Erin's  Flag,  were  designed  to  add 
variety  and  enthusiasm  to  the  entertainment. 
In  March  the  snow  is  abundant  in  the  San  Juan, 
and  during  this  special  month  of  Boreas  some  of 
the  fiercest  storms  and  most  destructive  snow- 
slides  visit  this  region.  For  Ireland's  national 
feast  great  preparations  were  under  way,  and  the 
expectation  was  that  the  festivities  would  attract 
large  numbers.  The  evening  of  the  sixteenth 
the  sun  went  down  behind  hoary  Sneffles  in  dark, 
heavy  clouds,  which  boded  no  good  for  Patrick's 
Day  in  the  morning.  By  midnight  the  snow  was 
falling  gently  and  the  weather  indications  were 
that  a  great  storm  was  impending.  About  2:30 
in  the  morning  the  door-bell  rang  violently,  and 
going  to  the  door  I  learned  that  there  was  an 
urgent  sick  call  for  me  from  Silverton.  The 
messenger  had  left  Silverton  the  previous  night 
at  ten  o'clock  and  driven  a  team  hitched  to  a 
sleigh  over  the  range.  There  was  very  little 
danger  then,  but  with  this  new  storm  fast  ap- 
proaching, the  fresh  snow  would  slide  over  the 
hard  surface  of  the  old  and  bear  destruc- 
tion in  its  path.  I  enquired  who  was  sick, 
and  when  the  reply  came  I  knew  that  the 
doom  of  the  sick  man  was  sealed,  for  he 
had  been  a  hard  and  constant  drinker,  and  now 
pneumonia  had  a  firm  hold  of  him.  It  was  the 
opinion  of  his  friends  that  he  was  dying,  and  he 
called  for  the  priest,  desiring  to  receive  the  last 
sacraments  of  the  church. 

The   sick  man  was  young,   bright,   clever,   a 

73 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

hustler  and  money-maker.  When  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  him  he  was  recovering  from  one 
of  those  periodical  sprees  which  blast  life  and 
bring  so  many  to  an  early  grave.  He  was  mar- 
ried, and  his  wife  was  a  convert  to  Catholicity. 
She  was  one  of  those  confiding  creatures,  whose 
heart  and  soul  find  in  holy  church  and  her  con- 
soling doctrines  the  peace  which  the  world  can- 
not give.  But  he  was  of  the  class,  unhappily 
too  large,  who,  fascinated  by  the  fashion  of  the 
world,  cast  to  the  winds  the  practices  of  religion 
and  outrun  the  most  abandoned  in  the  race  of 
sensuality.  Strong  drink,  evil  companions,  mem- 
bership in  societies  condemned  by  the  church, 
neglect  of  the  duties  which  make  the  true  man, 
wrought  his  ruin.  After  a  vain  effort  to  reform 
her  dissipated  husband,  extending  over  a  period 
of  three  years,  his  patient  wife  was  obliged  to 
leave  him  and  seek  safety  with  her  parents.  I 
will  not  dwell  upon  the  harrowing  story  of  a 
broken  heart,  but  leave  to  the  judgment  record 
of  the  last  day  the  revelation  which  I  refrain 
from  making 

The  messenger  told  me  that,  as  his  horses  were 
tired,  he  must  let  them  rest  until  six  o'clock, 
when  we  should  set  out  for  Silverton.  I  slept  no 
more  that  night,  and  I  was  satisfied  that  I  could 
not  deliver  my  promised  lecture  that  evening.  I 
got  up  at  five,  said  mass,  and  requested  a  brother 
priest  who  was  my  visitor,  to  excuse  me  to 
the  audience  in  the  evening  and  make  a  short 
address  for  me.  At  six  o'clock  sharp,  we  were 
in  readiness  to  start  for  Silverton,  a  terrific  drive 
for  one  team  with  a  heavy  sleigh  and  a  badly 
drifted  road.  At  Bear  Creek  Falls,  the  toll 
gatherer,  who  had  been  there  for  years,  came 

74 


CELEBRATION    OF   A  FESTIVAL 

out  to  take  our  tickets,  and  warned  us  that  we 
ran  the  risk  of  being  lost  in  a  slide  or  in  the 
blinding  storm  which  was  advancing  apace.  At 
any  moment  we  might  plunge  over  a  precipice  on 
the  narrow  mountain  pass.  My  companion 
would  not  turn  back,  as  living  in  Ouray  and 
boarding  a  team  were  expensive,  so,  despite  the 
difficulties  of  the  situation,  he  preferred  to  make 
Silverton.  I  was  just  as  anxious  to  attend  the 
poor  fellow  who  awaited  my  coming.  Accord- 
ingly, we  continued  on  our  way.  Bear  Creek 
Falls  was  fringed  from  top  to  bottom  with  a  deli- 
'  cate  embroidery  of  snow  which  clung  to  bridge 
and  rock  and  shrub,  mantling  the  mountain 
sides  for  hundreds  of  feet  down.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  water-falls  in  Colorado.  We  has- 
tened on  our  journey  without  getting  out  of  the 
sleigh,  until  we  came  within  half  a  mile  of  the 
second  bridge,  where  we  were  compelled  to 
alight  and  shovel  snow.  The  spot  is  one  of 
tragic  memories.  The  preceding  fall  Ashenfelter 
lost  a  team,  wagon  and  a  load  of  merchandise 
at  this  place.  Coming  up  a  little  rise  in  the  road 
the  collar  choked  one  of  his  horses,  which  fell, 
dragging  the  other  horse  toward  and  over  the 
precipice.  The  driver  saved  himself  in  the  nick 
of  time  by  jumping  from  the  wagon  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  wall;  but  the  outfit  went  down 
2,000  feet.  A  few  hundred  yards  further  on, 
in  the  bottom  of  the  creek,  lay  two  dead  horses, 
their  necks  broken  in  the  mad  plunge.  There 
were  some  other  dangerous  places  in  the  road, 
where  we  might  be  caught  in  slides.  Coming  to 
the  first  of  these  spots,  we  were  pleased  to  find 
that  the  snow  had  not  come  down,  and  that  it 
was  not  very  deep  on  the  incline,  About  a  year 

75 


IN    THK    SAN  JUAN 

before  I  had  been  nearly  caught  right  here; 
moreover,  large  chunks  were  breaking  loose 
above  and  gathering  in  volume  as  they  rolled 
down,  so  I  became  rather  nervous.  As  I  sat  in 
the  saddle  viewing  these  suspicious  advance 
guards,  a  great  mass  became  detached  above,  and 
like  a  flash  carried  everything  before  it.  It  was 
a  close  call.  When  we  came  to  Mother  Cline — 
strange  name  indeed  for  a  snowslide — we  found 
the  passage  safe.  I  thought  for  a  moment  of 
Mother  Gary's  chickens  as  applied  by  sailors  to 
the  sea  birds,  which  come  on  board  ships  and  are 
the  sure  harbingers  of  a  storm;  but  I  hoped  that k 
the  association  of  ideas,  connected  with  the  name 
Mother  Cline,  would  have  no  significance  for  us. 
This  famous  snowslide  had  come  down  some 
time  before  and  bore  everything  away  in  its  track, 
recoiling  from  the  bottom  of  the  gulch  and  break- 
ing off  the  trees  on  the  mountain  side  for  200 
feet.  The  snow  was  from  sixty  to  seventy 
feet  deep  on  the  road-bed  and  in  the  gulch, 
and  the  mass  of  wrecked  matter  was  a  conglom- 
eration of  broken  trees  and  huge  boulders,  some 
of  which  weighed  from  two  to  three  tons.  As 
long  as  the  weather  was  cold  a  team  could  readily 
cross  on  the  top  of  the  slide,  but  when  the 
snow  melted  the  county  was  obliged  to  cut  a 
tunnel,  which  was  one  of  the  wonders  of  the 
Ouray  toll  road  that  summer.  It  was  580 
feet  long,  and  high  enough  for  the  Concord 
stage  with  its  six  horses  to  pass  through.  By 
late  fall  the  roof  was  thawed  out,  but  some  of 
the  walls  remained  standing  for  two  years.  On 
our  arrival  at  Ironton  we  permitted  the  horses  to 
take  a  short  rest,  and  meanwhile  called  on  Paddy 
Commins  to  ascertain  the  state  of  the  flock,  after 


THE:  SNOW  TUNNEI,  ON  OURAY  ROAD 


CELEBRATION    OF   A  FESTIVAL 

which  we  proceeded  to  Red  Mountain.  As  we 
approached  the  greater  altitude  the  storm  almost 
blinded  us,  and  it  was  difficult  to  keep  the  road. 
Above  the  Yankee  Girl  mine  we  met  a  sleigh 
coming  from  Silverton,  and  the  men  who  were 
in  it  informed  us  that  the  sick  man  was  dead.  I 
at  once  changed  sleighs  and  started  back  for 
Ouray.  We  stopped  at  Ironton  for  dinner  at 
Paddy  Commins.'  Paddy  was  a  character  in  his 
way,  and  a  zealous  coadjutor  of  mine  in  my  mis- 
sionary labors.  He  was  a  grown  man  at  that 
period,  which  constitutes  an  epoch  in  Irish  his- 
tory, viz. :  the  night  of  the  Big  Wind,  and  passed 
through  the  famine  barely  with  his  life.  Many 
a  time  he  spoke  of  the  distress  and  hardship  of 
those  trying  days,  when  men  ate  grass  on  the 
roadside  and  gaunt  starvation  stalked  through 
the  land.  Tired  of  working  at  starvation  wages 
on  the  public  works  that  had  been  started  by  an 
alien  government  for  the  relief  of  the  starving 
Irish,  Paddy  crossed  the  British  Channel,  and  for 
forty  years  in  England  carried  the  hod.  On  the 
death  of  his  wife  he  came  to  this  country,  and  at 
the  age  of  eighty,  when  I  got  acquainted  with 
him,  he  was  able  to  do  a  better  day's  work  than 
many  young  men  in  the  full  flush  of  health.  He 
took  pride  in  telling  the  boys  that  when  he  came 
to  Ironton  the  only  apparel  he  had  in  the  world 
was  a  suit  of  soldier's  clothes.  He  was  a  strict 
temperance  man,  and  would  not  allow  a  drop  of 
liquor  to  be  brought  into  his  cabin.  In  the 
course  of  his  travels  he  had  acquired  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  cobbler's  art,  and  could  repair  the 
men's  boots  and  shoes  to  the  queen's  taste.  He 
owned  two  handsome  little  houses,  which  he 
rented  at  a  good  figure,  and  I  have  no  doubt  he 

77 


IN   THB  SAN  JUAN 

had  more  than  one  double  eagle  stored  away  in 
the  traditional  stocking.  When  the  boys  chaffed 
or  worsted  him  in  argument  he  would  close  the 
debate  by  saying:  "Give  me  no  more  of  your 
after  clap."  Paddy  was  deeply  attached  to  his 
church,  which  he  had  grace  enough  to  love  more 
than  anything  earthly,  and  he  had  far  more  of 
the  ecclesiastical  spirit  than  many  great  scholars. 
He  took  a  lively  concern  in  every  project  that 
looked  to  the  spread  of  religion,  and  gave  a  help- 
ing hand  to  every  good  work.  Many  a  hungry 
man  found  a  substantial  meal  in  the  patriarch's 
cabin.  He  was  sexton  and  general  utility  man 
in  the  little  parish  at  Ironton,  where,  in  my  ab- 
sence, he  watched  over  the  flock  and  kept  a  rec- 
ord of  whatever  it  was  useful  for  me  to  know. 
He  still  lives,  a  fine  specimen  of  an  honest  old 
man. 

After  dining  at  Paddy's,  and  wishing  him 
many  happy  years  and  many  returns  of  Patrick's 
Day  in  the  morning,  the  day  he  was  born  in  the 
land  beyond  the  sea,  I  set  out  for  Ouray  in  one 
of  the  most  desperate  storms  of  snow  and  wind  I 
ever  faced.  I  have  been  caught  in  a  blizzard  in 
all  its  prairie  tantrums  and  stood  it  for  ten  hours 
at  a  time,  when  the  cold  was  so  bitter  as  almost 
to  freeze  a  man  to  death,  but  I  never  experienced 
a  storm  which  for  severity  and  fierceness  equaled 
that  mountain  maelstrom  of  the  canon.  There 
was  not  a  sense  that  did  not  have  its  appropriate 
scourge  in  that  furious  cyclone  or  whirlwind;  and 
so  thick  and  dense  was  the  snow  that  it  was  im- 
possible at  times  for  the  horses  to  move.  We 
got  out  of  the  sleighs,  waded  hip  deep  through 
the  soft  snow  and  felt  for  the  road  in  broad  day- 
light, creeping  along  the  wall  to  be  certain  that 

78 


CELEBRATION    OF   A   FESTIVAL 

we  were  not  rushing  headlong  into  the  precipice. 
After  four  hours  of  stumbling,  falling  in  the  snow 
and  digging  a  way  for  the  horses,  and  when  we 
had  almost  given  up  the  hope  of  ever  coming  out 
alive,  we  appeared  in  Ouray  at  five  in  the 
evening  and  celebrated  Patrick's  Day,  or  rather 
night,  as  it  had  never  before  been  celebrated. 
There  was  a  large  audience  awaiting  the  big  pro- 
gramme, and  the  skillful  performance  of  the  play, 
which  represented  Ouray 's  best  histrionic  and 
musical  talent,  compensated  for  any  shortcomings 
in  the  lecture  of  the  wornout  traveler.  The  play 
was  Sheridan's  masterpiece,  "The  School  for 
Scandal,"  and  relieved  the  tragic  character  of 
the  lecture  by  its  light,  comic  vein.  It  was  strange 
to  see  such  a  play,  and  one  with  such  a  name, 
rendered  far  up  in  nature's  mountain  theatre.  It 
is  sufficient  to  say  that  the  whole  entertainment 
was  received  with  enthusiastic  favor,  and  that  it 
was  a  genuine  Patrick's  Day  celebration.  Let 
the  Irishman  be  ever  so  far  away,  when  Patrick's 
Day  arrives,  his  heart,  untrammeled,  returns  to  the 
home  of  the  venerable  Granuaile  and  the  mem- 
ories associated  with  Ireland's  patron  saint,  con- 
cerning whose  work  the  following  quaint  ballad 
was  composed,  perhaps,  by  one  of  the  ancient 
bards,  and  translated  by  some  Irish  scholar: 

Ye  offspring  of  Seth  of  the  ancient  belief, 
Old  Granu's  true  sons  by  adoption, 
These  lines  most  sincere  I  commit  to  your  care 
For  perusal  and  also  instruction, 
Concerning  that  great  and  apostolic  man, 
The  glorious  St.  Patrick,  you  shall  understand, 
Who  banished  idolatry  out  of  our  land, 
Made  Erin  to  blaze  with  true  zeal  and  devotion, 
He  left  us  the  happiest  isle  in  the  ocean, 
And  Patrick's  Day  in  the  morning. 
79 


IN    THE    SAN   JUAN 

When  he  came  to  our  shore 

Our  land  was  spread  o'er 

With  witchcraft  and  dark  necromancy ; 

Deluged,  the  scribe  says, 

By  such  gross,  evil  ways, 

As  was  pleasing  to  Beelzebub's  fancy. 

This  champion  of  Christ  did  all  magic  expel, 

Those  imps  of  perdition  he  did  them  repel, 

Their  worship  he  stopped  and  their  idols,  they  fell. 

Our  Savior's  bless'd  name  was  praised  through  the  nation, 

The  cross,  it  was  held  in  profound  veneration, 

And  Erin  complied  with  the  sign  of  salvation, 

And  Patrick's  Day  in  the  morning. 

The  peer  and  the  peasant,  the  prince,  I  declare, 

To  the  font  of  baptism,  they  all  did  repair; 

St.  Patrick,  he  freed  them  from  satan's  great  snare, 

He  showed  them  the  path  that  led  to  Mount  Sion, 

The  manner  to  live  and  the  way  for  to  die  in, 

And  none  would  be  lost  who  were  patronized  by  him, 

And  Patrick's  Day  in  the  morning. 

Fatigued  by  great  labors  and  hardships,  'tis  true, 
And  aged  one  hundred,  likewise  twenty -two, 
On  the  seventeenth  of  March  he  bid  them  adieu; 
His  soul  took  its  flight  to  the  mansions  of  glory, 
Where  fame  still  records  it  in  sacred  history, 
For  divesting  our  island  of  serpent  and  Tory. 
He  left  us  the  happiest  spot  in  the  ocean, 
And  Patrick's  Day  in  the  morning. 

And,  now  for  to  end  those  few  lines  I  have  penned, 

Oh!  Blessed  St.  Patrick,  remember 

How  thy  people  did  stand 

For  thy  faith  in  this  land, 

Tho'  distressed,  like  the  birds  in  December. 

It  is  now  on  the  verge  of  the  eight  hundredth  year, 

We've  supported  thy  land  through  troubles  and  fear, 

And  stood  by  the  doctrine  you  planted  so  dear, 

In  spite  of  seduction,  oppression  or  killing, 

To  this  present  day  we  still  have  five  million, 

Who  are  always  both  active  and  ready  and  willing 

To  aid  your  just  cause  in  the  morning. 

While  the  versification  of  this  ballad  may  vio- 
late the  rules  of  poetical  composition,  the  senti- 


CELEBRATION   OF  A  FESTIVAL 

ment  is  so  good  that  it  has  been  thought  not 
amiss  to  embalm  it  in  a  sketch  of  a  Patrick's  Day 
celebration.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  it  is  one  of 
the  ballads  which  were  more  common  in  Ireland 
fifty  years  ago  than  to-day.  It  possesses  a  de- 
licious combination  of  piety  and  humor. 

That  spring,  pneumonia  was  prevalent  in  the 
San  Juan,  and  many  of  the  boys  crossed  the 
range  for  the  last  time.  Deaths  and  funerals 
became  so  common  that  I  was  brought  into  fre- 
quent communication  at  the  church  services  with 
non- Catholics,  with  the  result  that  some  of  those 
who  afterwards  came  to  the  hospital  ill  were 
converted  through  the  kindly  admonitions  of  the 
never-tiring  sisters.  Indefatigable  workers  and 
wholly  devoted  to  their  vocation  of  sacrifice,  they 
were  constantly  in  the  service  of  their  patients, 
for  the  spiritual  and  physical  welfare  of  whom 
they  considered  no  fatigue  great,  no  vigil  long. 
True  sisters  of  charity,  they  won  the  love  of  all. 
Many  a  hardened  sinner  who  might  have  scorned 
the  advice  of  even  dear  friends,  hearkened  to  the 
counsel  of  the  sisters  and  at  the  eleventh  hour 
were  reconciled  to  God;  there  were  not  a  few 
who  rose  reformed  from  a  sick  pallet,  and  to  this 
day  thank  their  gentle  nurses  for  the  spiritual  and 
corporal  works  of  mercy  which  were  performed 
in  their  behalf.  Of  this  class  were  two  brothers 
from  Missouri,  who  had  been  working  at  the 
mines.  One  of  them  was  taken  ill  and  for  four 
or  five  days  struggled  between  life  and  death. 
The  sister  who  was  in  attendance  at  his  sick  bed, 
seeing  that  the  end  was  near,  spoke  to  him  of 
the  necessity  of  preparing  for  the  life  to  come. 
She  told  him  that  he  must  be  baptized  if  he 
wished  to  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven  and  be 

81 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

instructed  in  the  principal  mysteries  of  religion. 
The  good  words  of  the  teacher  did  not  fall  on 
incredulous  ears;  the  young  man  heard  the  voice 
of  the  spirit  and  did  not  harden  his  heart.  The 
priest  came  to  him  and  he  received  the  sacra- 
ments with  edifying  dispositions  and  died  a 
saintly  death.  His  remains  were  followed  to  the 
cemetery  by  a  large  number  of  miners,  and  his 
broken-hearted  brother,  as  he  stood  bareheaded 
at  the  foot  of  the  grave,  was  seized  by  a  congest- 
ive chill,  which  rendered  his  immediate  removal 
to  the  hospital  imperative.  The  doctor  was  sum- 
moned at  once  and  pronounced  the  case  pneu- 
monia. The  usual  remedies  were  applied,  and 
the  sisters  did  everything  in  their  power  to  save 
his  life.  The  first  night  of  his  illness,  he  became 
delirious  and  his  constant  cry  was:  "I  want  to 
become  a  Christian;  baptize  me,  for  I  am  dying;" 
and  when  he  came  to  himself  the  next  morning, 
he  continued  to  express  the  same  desire.  I  was 
sent  for,  and  informed  him  that  he  must  wait  un- 
til he  was  instructed,  and  that  as  soon  as  he  got 
well  I  would  give  him  the  requisite  instruction; 
but  that  if  he  were  in  serious  danger  of  death  I 
would  baptize  him  at  any  time.  This  satisfied 
him,  and  during  the  day  he  showed  signs  of  im- 
provement, but  as  evening  came  he  began  to  sink 
so  rapidly  that  I  baptized  him  and  prepared  him 
for  death.  As  the  morning  drew  near,  with  the 
sisters  kneeling  at  his  bedside  and  praying  for 
him,  he  breathed  forth  his  regenerated  soul  to 
his  Maker.  That  morning,  while  the  body  of 
the  dead  man  awaited  the  arrival  of  his  friends, 
I  went  to  Grand  Junction  to  assist  a  neighboring 
priest.  I  have  often  been  struck  by  the  wonder- 
ful conversions  that  occur  at  our  hospitals.  Men 

82 


CELEBRATION    OF   A  FESTIVAL 

who  spend  long  lives  of  utter  spiritual  abandon- 
ment are  suddenly  touched  by  the  merciful  hand 
of  God,  and  the  Divine  visitation,  which  they  re- 
gard as  a  curse,  becomes  the  greatest  blessing. 
Erought  to  themselves  during  the  tedious  hours 
of  illness,  they  begin  to  see  the  folly  of  their  past 
life  and  in  the  face  of  suffering,  the  vision  of  truth 
comes  to  them.  They  repent  and  become  good 
Christians,  or  die  well. 


SIXTH  SKETCH 

DURING  my  last  two  years  at  Ouray,  and 
after  Silverton  and  Rico  had  each  a  pastor, 
I  now  and  then  took  a  holiday  trip  into 
the  mountains.  On  such  occasions,  I  trailed  a 
deer,  gave  a  wide  berth  to  a  bear,  or  killed  grouse, 
which  were  fairly  plentiful  on  Cow  Creek.  The 
mountain  trout,  too,  were  a  tempting  morsel  to 
the  patient  disciple  of  Izaak  Walton.  The 
fisherman  can  always  catch  enough  to  eat,  and 
the  trout,  fried  in  bacon,  make  a  savory  dish. 
Then  the  air  is  so  bracing  that  you  have  the 
best  of  seasoning  in  a  vigorous  appetite.  These 
short  excursions,  though  physically  exhausting 
and  tiresome  in  a  mountainous  country,  are  an 
excellent  antidote  for  mental  overwork  and  the 
parish  worries  that  come,  when  a  church  is  in 
debt.  Building  churches,  collecting  money  and 
paying  debts  soon  wear  a  man  out. 

I  had  two  missions  besides  Ouray,  viz. :  Ironton 
and  Ridgeway.  Through  the  active  efforts  of 
the  generous  Catholics  of  these  stations,  a  neat 
little  church  was  erected  at  each  town.  I  always 
said  mass,  and  had  an  evening  service  on  Sunday 
in  Ouray,  and  I  alternated  the  second  Sunday 
mass  at  Ironton  or  Ridgeway.  For  the  purpose 
of  attending  these  missions,  I  kept  a  pair  of 
bronchos,  roan  in  color,  weighing,  perhaps, 
800  pounds  each,  and  fast  steppers.  Leaving 
Ouray  on  Sunday  morning  at  about  six 
o'clock,  I  drove  up  to  Ironton,  a  distance  of 
nine  miles.  I  let  the  ponies  go  at  an  easy 
gait,  as  there  was  a  distance  of  2,000  feet  to  be 
overcome  in  the  ascent;  but,  on  my  return  to 

84 


THRIVING  INCIDENTS   OF  A  HUNTING  TRIP 

Ouray  for  the  10:30  o'clock  mass,  I  did  not  let  the 
grass  grow  under  the  little  fellows'  feet.  Many 
a  time  have  I  descended  the  stony  road  along  a 
mighty  wall  of  granite,  with  the  wheels  of  the 
buggy  within  twenty  inches  of  a  precipice, 
2,000  feet  deep.  The  journey  I  could  make 
in  the  brief  space  of  forty  minutes.  Now  and 
then  some  visitor  to  Ouray  would  desire  to  come 
with  me  and  view  the  magnificent  scenery;  but 
after  one  experience  the  curiosity  of  such  a  one 
would  be  more  than  gratified.  The  pace  was  too 
rapid,  and  the  situation  too  thrilling  for  the 
greatest  sensation  lover.  I  once  took  a  young 
man  to  Ironton  on  Sunday  morning,  and  having 
been  delayed  beyond  the  usual  time  after  mass  I 
let  the  ponies  fairly  fly  over  the  road  on  my  way 
back.  My  companion  clutched  the  seat  of  the 
buckboard  and  held  on  with  all  his  might.  He 
screamed  and  said:  "  Father,  I  must  have  heard 
something  crack. ' '  I  inquired  if  the  wheels  were 
on  and  he  said  yes.  "Well,  then,"  said  I, 
"there  is  no  danger,'*  and  I  cracked  the  whip, 
again.  The  little  ponies,  being  light  and  willing, 
moved  down  the  mountain  at  a  tearing  pace 
without  injury  to  themselves  or  passengers. 

The  broncho  is  by  far  the  best  and  fastest  saddle 
horse  in  the  mountains.  Not  too  heavy  to  climb 
the  highest  places,  it  is  light  enough  to  move 
down  the  steep  incline  with  ease  and  security. 
Nearly  as  sure-footed  as  the  mule,  without  its 
slow  gait,  the  broncho  will  pick  its  way  with 
skill  over  a  narrow,  stony  path  on  a  mountain 
ridge  which  is  scarcely  a  foot  wide  and  where  the 
broad- footed  horse  would  destroy  himself  and 
rider.  The  broncho  may  fall  without  injury  to 
himself  or  rider,  and  once  down,  the  latter  is  able 

85 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

to  bring  him  to  his  feet  again,  turn  him  around 
in  the  trail  or  dig  him  out  of  the  snow,  some- 
thing he  could  not  do  with  a  heavy  horse.  The 
staying  powers  of  the  broncho  are  of  the  first 
quality  and  no  large  horse  can  stand  fatigue, 
hunger,  hardship  and  abuse  so  well  as  the  de- 
spised broncho,  which,  during  the  past  years,  has 
been  sold  in  the  west  as  low  as  two  dollars  and 
a-half. 

It  has  been  said,  time  and  again,  that  a  man 
on  foot  can  outrun  a  horse  carrying  a  rider  down  a 
steep  mountain.  This  claim  was  put  to  test  some 
years  ago  on  that  steep  and  narrow  trail  which 
lies  between  Marshall  Basin  and  Telluride.  The 
endurance,  speed  and  certainty  of  this  animal  in 
keeping  his  feet,  where  it  was  impossible  for  a 
man  to  go  down  the  almost  perpendicular  cutoffs, 
while  bearing  a  rider,  proved  to  the  satisfaction 
of  all  that  the  broncho  was  capable  of  accom- 
plishing leaps  down  precipices  and  over  craggy 
points,  which  even  the  Rocky  Mountain  sheep 
would  not  dare  attempt.  Thousands  of  dollars 
changed  hands  on  the  event  to  which  I  allude, 
as  many  people  came  to  see  this  novel  contest 
of  four  miles  down  the  mountain  between  horse 
and  man. 

The  trip  to  Ridgeway  was  over  twelve  miles. 
After  saying  mass  there  on  Sunday  morning  at 
nine  o'clock,  and  giving  a  short  instruction  to 
the  people,  I  had  little  time  to  reach  Ouray  for 
the  second  mass;  the  ponies,  however,  stood  it 
well  and  passed  everything  on  the  road.  But 
Sunday  was  their  hardest  day,  as  it  was  mine. 

In  the  early  September  of  1890  I  planned  a 
hunt  to  Cow  Creek,  and  took  with  me  a  young 
friend  who  was  not  distinguished  for  his  marks- 


THRIVING   INCIDENTS  OF  A   HUNTING  TRIP 

manship,  his  opportunities  of  using  a  gun  having 
been  few  and  far  between.  His  name  was 
Dennis,  but  not  the  Dennis  who  is  made  fun  of  at 
the  political  convention.  I  also  took  a  young 
man  who  was  born  within  the  sound  of  the  flow- 
ing Rhine,  three  horses,  rifles,  shot-guns,  and 
rations  for  forty-eight  hours.  We  brought  our 
overcoats  and  a  blanket  each  for  a  night  on  the 
mountain.  Dennis,  and  Van,  which  was  the 
name  of  the  other  member  of  the  party,  and  a 
crack  shot,  intended  to  kill  deer,  and  myself  and 
my  dog  Prince  were  in  quest  of  grouse. 

Everyone  that  has  been  in  Ouray  knows  where 
the  Horse  Shoe  is — east  of  the  city.  It  is  a  vast 
amphitheatre,  the  wall  of  which  rises  several 
thousand  feet  above  the  city,  indeed,  so  high  that 
nothing  but  the  bare  rocks  appear  against  the 
eastern  sky.  When  the  sun  rises  over  these 
lead- colored  peaks  and  the  rays  of  his  golden 
light  quiver  upon  nature's  towers,  the  scene  is 
grand  and  impressive.  In  winter  the  hand  of  the 
clock  points  to  ten  when  the  sun  shows  his  face, 
and  in  the  west  old  Sneffles  hides  the  last  ray  of 
the  departing  monarch  by  four  in  the  evening. 
So,  the  days  are  short  in  Ouray 's  winter.  The 
range  on  the  northeast  gradually  sinks  for  twelve 
miles  to  the  northwest  into  stunted  foot  hills, 
which  fade  out  of  sight  in  the  verdant  valley  of 
the  Dallas.  To  the  northeast  of  a  city,  which  is 
thought  by  many  to  be  the  most  picturesque  in 
the  world,  the  resident  of  Ouray  may,  as  he  sits 
in  his  doorway,  easily  trace  the  different  periods 
of  geological  formation  in  the  red  granite  walls 
which,  rising  thousands  of  feet,  form  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  features  of  a  mountain  picture  in 
the  San  Juan,  In  the  summer,  when  the  snow 

87 


IN   THE  SAN  JUAN 

is  melting,  a  stream  of  limpid  water  rushes  from 
the  far-away  peaks  through  a  small  ravine  in  the 
mountains  above.  The  ravine  is  studded  with 
scrubby  pines,  with  here  and  there  the  golden 
willow,  the  wild  plum  tree  and  the  swaying 
aspen,  which  is  at  home  on  the  lofty  heights.  As 
the  rivulet  rushes  over  the  cliffs,  it  falls  several 
hundred  feet  and  tones  whatever  of  the  stern  may 
be  in  the  scene. 

THE  CASCADE  OF  OURAY. 

What  murmur  breaks  the  stillness, 
Stealing  down  from  yon  high  walls; 
Coming  forth  from  rock  and  crevice, 
Whisp'ring  music,  as  it  falls  ? 

'Tis  the  cascade  from  the  mountains, 
Rushing  down  the  craggy  way; 
Dashing  o'er  the  time-worn  boulders 
To  the  valley  of  Ouray. 

Now  it  sounds  far  up  the  mountains, 
In  a  voice  that  seems  to  say : 
"I  am  coming  forth  to  gladden 
The  beauty  of  Ouray." 

Nearer,  louder,  sounds  its  music, 
As  it  marches  on  the  way, 
Gath'ring  up  the  spring  and  streamlet, 
Leaping  down  upon  Ouray. 

High  above  the  city's  grandeur, 
How  its  seething  volumes  play, 
Clad  in  gold  and  silver  sunshine, 
Rushing  down  upon  Ouray. 

It  was  our  intention  to  climb  this  mountain. 
To  do  this  we  had  to  go  down  the  road  from 
Ouray  for  about  two  miles,  then  turn  to  the  right, 
go  up  a  gulch,  creep  along  a  trail  that  had  special 
dangers  for  horses,  and  come  out  on  Horse  Thief 


o 
o 


o 


THRIVING  INCIDENTS  OF  A  HUNTING  TRIP 

trail.  We  were  ready  to  start  at  four  in  the 
morning.  Prince  was  delighted,  jumping  gayly 
about  and  wagging  his  tail.  Our  progress  at 
first  was  slow,  Dennis  taking  the  lead,  with  Van 
second,  and  myself  bringing  up  the  rear.  Climb- 
ing a  steep  grade  in  the  mountains  is  obviously  a 
hard  task,  every  few  yards  one  must  rest,  and  to 
urge  a  horse  would  be  simply  to  kill  him  or  force 
him  to  lie  down  on  the  trail.  The  rider  must 
dismount  and  lead  the  horse.  Dennis  was  a 
miner,  so  was  Van,  and  it  was  difficult  for  me, 
who  weighed  200  pounds,  to  keep  up  with 
them.  We  crossed  little  streams  and  stretches 
of  valleys,  well  watered,  well  timbered,  and  car- 
peted with  the  russet  leaves  of  many  an  autumn 
and  the  fossilized  remains  of  deer  and  moun- 
tain sheep.  Here  was  a  soil  which  for  richness 
can  scarcely  be  equaled,  and  besides  there  was 
enough  of  timber  for  all  uses.  It  was,  perhaps, 
through  such  a  paradise  the  Grecian  leader  passed 
on  the  famous  retreat  of  the  Ten  Thousand,  and, 
as  I  recall  the  memory  of  those  pleasing  valleys, 
I  regret  that  I  cannot  describe,  them  with  the  pen 
of  the  classical  writer.  While  I  plodded  along, 
gazing  on  the  virgin  forest  and  the  fertile  country 
that  would  make  happy  homes  for  thousands,  the 
thought  of  the  folly  of  mortals  unnumbered  who 
quit  the  country  for  the  city,  came  to  my  mind. 
"We  leave  our  sweet  plains  and  farms  for  smoke 
and  noise. ' '  All  over  the  world  tens  of  thousands 
are  toiling  in  dingy  shops  for  the  merest  pittance, 
while  in  Colorado  and  the  great  west,  acres,  nay 
regions,  of  arable  land  summon  the  industrious 
to  prosperity  and  happiness.  It  is  true  that  you 
cannot  raise  everything  you  may  want  on  the 
high  tablelands,  but  it  is  just  as  true  that  a 

89 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

man's  wants  are  not  his  needs.  All  the  neces- 
saries of  life  may  be  produced — wheat,  oats,  barley, 
rye,  potatoes  and  vegetables  of  all  kinds,  and 
wood  and  water  are  abundant.  More  timber  has 
been  destroyed  in  Colorado  by  forest  fires  and 
now  lies  rotting  on  the  ground  than  could  be  put 
to  profit  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  state  for  a 
century. 

At  sunrise  we  came  out  on  the  plateau,  far 
above  the  mountain,  at  whose  base  Ouray  hides 
from  the  winter's  blast.  The  sun  was  just  steal- 
ing over  the  mountains  on  Cow  Creek,  and  over 
that  long  range  far  away  on  the  Cimmaron, 
whose  jagged  peaks  are  like  a  piece  of  embroidery 
on  the  sky  in  the  background.  To  the  west,  the 
Blue  Mountains  of  Utah  lie  like  a  coronet  on  the 
horizon,  for  the  mists  which  always  seem  to  hang 
over  these  mountains  had  been  scattered  by  the 
effulgence  of  the  morning  light.  From  our  posi- 
tion we  could  descry  the  very  spot  on  which  the 
city  of  Grand  Junction  stands,  although  seventy 
miles  away,  and  the  houses  in  Montrose  could  be 
seen  at  a  distance  of  thirty  miles.  The  Un- 
comphagre,  a  deep  blue  ribbon  of  water,  winding 
its  way  through  the  valley  of  the  Dallas,  imparted 
to  the  prospect  still  more  life  and  beauty.  We 
were  almost  ravished  by  the  sight.  Dennis  had 
no  place  in  his  mind  for  Killarney,  her  placid 
lakes  and  softly  sloping  hills;  Van  thought  no 
more  of  the  smoothly  flowing  waters  of  the  blue 
Rhine  and  I  could  hardly  realize  the  tame  and 
even  sweep  of  Iowa's  fruitful  farms,  while  the 
vision  of  Colorado's  mountain  scenery  held  us 
enthralled.  The  grass  on  the  plateau  was  wet 
with  hoar  frost,  and  here,  while  preparing  our 
guns,  we  let  the  horses  eat.  We  followed  Horse 

90 


THRIVING  INCIDENTS  OF  A   HUNTING  TRIP 

Thief  Trail  for  about  two  miles,  when  we  came 
to  an  opening,  or  rather  a  gap  in  the  mountain, 
peeped  down  the  craggy  defile,  and  to  our  de- 
light we  beheld  several  deer  and  a  bunch  of 
Rocky  Mountain  sheep  standing  on  a  shelving 
rock  1,000  yards  below.  We  determined  to 
have  some  of  the  deer,  for  there  was  a  law 
against  shooting  sheep,  but  the  game  had  scented 
us  and  were  moving  down  the  gulch.  We  de- 
cided to  follow  them,  leading  our  horses  down  a 
most  dangerous  slope  into  which  the  water  was 
seeping  out  from  the  mountain.  Presently  we 
were  up  to  our  knees  in  the  splashing  mud,  and 
the  horses  floundered  up  to  their  breasts.  After 
many  severe  efforts,  we  came  out  on  a  rocky 
point,  bedraggled  with  mud  and  with  much  of 
the  hunting  spirit  taken  out  of  us;  we  looked 
much  more  like  Sherman's  bummers  than  the 
sportsmen  you  read  of.  After  examining  the 
ground  and  perceiving  that  we  could  not  get 
down  the  mountain,  our  opinion  was  that  it  would 
be  no  easy  task  to  get  back  the  way  we  came. 
We  were  in  a  bad  trap,  and  the  game  was  gone. 
In  this  awful  dilemma  we  made  up  our  minds 
to  face  the  difficulty  of  returning  by  the  way 
we  came.  It  took  two  hours  to  advance  200 
yards,  and  I  believe  Dennis  would  bear  me 
out  in  saying  that  it  was  a  very  perplexing  situa- 
tion. 

Having  gained  the  trail  once  more,  we  fol- 
lowed it,  and  in  passing  through  a  piece  of  wood- 
land, were  surprised  to  hear  the  sharp  crack  of  a 
rifle  at  such  an  early  hour,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to 
the  right.  In  a  few  moments,  crashing  through 
the  brush  several  hundred  yards  away,  came  a 
magnificent  specimen  of  a  buck,  with  antlers 

91 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

thrown  back.  He  was  going,  I  thought,  fifty  or 
sixty  miles  an  hour,  and  in  a  twinkle  was  over 
the  hogback  and  out  of  sight.  To  follow  him 
was  out  of  the  question,  and  we  moved  on  care- 
fully, on  the  lookout  for  more  deer.  We  had 
gone  but  a  short  distance  when  we  met  a  tall 
country  man — afterwards  I  learned  he  was  a 
Missourian — carrying  a  Springfield  rifle  that  may 
have  done  good  service  in  the  Civil  war,  as  the 
stock  was  notched  and  bruised.  He  was  a  typical 
Yankee,  with  long  legs,  a  short  back,  and  hav- 
ing that  easy  shuffle  which  indicates  long  ac- 
quaintance with  frontier  life.  He  wore  a  slouch 
hat,  and  rolled  a  quid  of  navy  in  his  jaw  as  if  to 
moisten  his  tongue,  for  he  seemed  to  be  warm 
and  perspired  freely.  '  'Did  you  see  a  wounded 
buck  come  up  this  way?"  he  broke  in,  without 
any  formal  introduction.  "He  was  on  the  run 
down  the  mountain  and  I  caught  him  on  the 
hind  quarter.  I'm  certain,"  said  the  man,  "as 
he  limped  after  the  shot. ' '  I  was  about  to  say 
that  he  was  on  the  run  yet,  and  that  he  did  not 
limp  when  he  passed  us,  but  we  told  him  that  we 
saw  the  deer  pass  at  a  rapid  gait,  and  that  he 
showed  no  signs  of  being  disabled.  Frofn  the 
man's  excitement  it  was  evident  that  he  had  the 
buck  fever  and  had  not  seen  the  back  sight  on 
his  gun  when  he  fired.  We  moved  on  over  the 
mountains,  while  our  new  acquaintance  pursued 
the  trail  of  the  deer,  which  he  hoped  would  soon 
lie  down  and  die. 

Having  crossed  a  range  of  mountains,  we  came 
to  the  headwaters  of  one  of  the  many  streams  which 
empty  into  Cow  Creek.  This  was  a  lovely  spot, 
with  some  timber  and  a  deserted  cabin.  It  was 
just  the  place  to  camp.  The  grazing  was  excel- 

92 


THRIUJNG   INCIDENTS   OF  A  HUNTING  TRIP 

lent,  there  was  much  grass  and  water,  with  an 
abundance  of  dead  wood  to  make  fire  and  boil 
our  coffee.  While  selecting  a  spot  and  still  in 
our  saddles,  Van  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth  and 
said:  "Hush  !  see  the  deer. "  We  looked  over 
a  hillock  and  about  half  a  mile  away,  counted 
fourteen  deer  in  single  file,  standing  on  the  trail 
and  looking  directly  at  us.  Apparently,  not  dis- 
concerted by  our  appearance,  they  began  to  move 
along  slowly.  Van  took  the  rifle  and  rode  down 
a  gulch  which  was  near  by,  while  Dennis  went 
around  the  mountain  on  the  other  side;  thus, 
some  one  would  have  a  chance  of  a  shot.  I  re- 
mained in  camp,  and  was  cautioned  not  to  shoot 
for  an  hour  and  a-half.  I  dismounted  and  rested 
in  the  shade  of  the  tree,  but  Prince,  with  true 
setter  instinct,  was  nosing  around  and  soon 
raised  a  grouse,  then  another.  I  was  tempted  to 
have  a  crack  at  the  game,  but  I  kept  my  promise. 
I  looked  for  the  boys.  They  had  passed  out  of 
sight  round  the  mountain;  I  waited  and  waited; 
the  sun  became  hotter,  and  I  caught  no  ring  of 
the  rifles  yet.  I  was  afraid  to  move,  lest  I  should 
disturb  the  grouse,  and  Prince  was  tied  and 
begging  piteously  to  be  freed.  At  length,  mak- 
ing up  my  mind  to  wait  no  longer,  I  turned  the 
dog  loose  and  the  gun,  too.  In  a  very  short  time 
I  had  fifteen  grouse,  and  was  tired  shooting, 
when  the  boys,  footsore,  came  into  camp,  without 
a  deer.  We  took  lunch  together  and  were 
quietly  resting  in  the  shade  when  our  tall  Mis- 
sourian  came  up  with  his  burro,  frying-pan  and 
camping  outfit.  We  invited  him  to  have  some- 
thing to  eat,  and  discussed  the  probability  of 
getting  some  deer.  He  knew  of  a  place,  a  good 
place,  too — it  is  a  failing  with  every  hunter  to 


IN   THE  SAN  JUAN 

know  of  a  place,  01  course,  a  good  place,  but  the 
particular  place  of  the  Missourian  was  ten  miles 
from  where  we  were  sitting.  He  assured  us, 
however,  that  if  we  adopted  his  suggestions  and 
remained  over  night  at  his  place,  we  certainly 
should  get  a  deer.  This  being  the  object  of  our 
excursion  we  acquiesced. 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  we  set  out  over 
that  barren  region,  reaching  an  elevation  where 
there  was  scarcely  a  vestige  of  vegetable  life,  and 
keeping  along  the  backbone  of  the  mountain  for 
miles,  saw  only  a  few  skulking  coyotes  and  foxes. 
These  we  would  not  shoot,  lest  the  nobler  game 
might  be  put  to  flight,  but  notwithstanding  this 
reserve,  a  deer  did  not  appear  the  whole  after- 
noon. As  the  sun  was  setting,  we  descended  the 
mountain  and  found  ourselves  in  a  level  plain 
through  which  a  sluggish  stream  was  trying  to 
make  its  way.  This  stream  we  followed  up  for 
two  miles  to  its  source.  Our  Missourian  friend 
proposed  that  we  should  camp  here,  as  a  half 
mile  farther  on  we  should  enter  the  coveted  park, 
in  which  we  were  to  make  our  debut  at  the  first 
streak  of  dawn.  I  shall  never  forget  that  night. 
Cold!  the  ice  was  nearly  half  an  inch  the  next 
morning  on  the  little  lake  that  lay  near  our 
camp.  On  one  of  the  adjacent  cliffs  we  saw  a 
mountain  lion,  which  was  too  far  away  for  a  shot. 
We  selected  a  spot  for  the  night,  picketed  our 
horses  and  were  soon  enjoying  a  hot  cup  of 
coffee.  We  then  spread  our  blankets  on  the 
grass,  put  on  our  overcoats  and  turned  in  for  the 
night.  I  occupied  the  mid  quarter  of  our  resting- 
place  as  far  as  there  could  be  a  middle,  for  it 
was  four  in  a  bed.  I  must  admit  that  I  had  the 
warmest  place,  but  that  is  not  saying  much,  as  it 

94 


THRILLING  INCIDENTS   OF  A  HUNTING   TRIP 

turned  out  to  be  extremely  cold.  All  night  the 
mountain  lions  and  coyotes  kept  up  a  mournful 
howl,  and  what  we  supposed  was  a  bear  tore 
through  the  underbrush.  Even  the  ponies  and 
the  burro  joined  in  the  dismal  concert,  which 
contained  so  many  discords  that  it  was  hard  to 
sleep.  That  we  were  disturbed  by  such  weird 
music,  and  in  such  desolate  surroundings,  need 
not  disturb  the  reader,  for  brown  and  cinnamon 
bear  were  at  one  time  very  numerous  in  the  San 
Juan  and  quite  a  few  still  remain,  affording  great 
pleasure  to  the  true  sportsman  and  filling  the 
fellow  who  is  always  hunting  bear  with  great 
fear.  Black  bear,  of  which  there  are  many  of 
the  small  variety,  are  not  considered  of  much 
value  in  the  list  of  the  hunter's  scalps.  Camping 
out  in  the  haunts  of  those  animals  is  not  so 
dangerous  as  the  average  novel  reader  thinks. 
The  bear  is  a  matter  of  fact  animal  and  generally 
minds  his  own  business.  It  will  never  attack 
man  except  when  driven  by  hunger  to  desperate 
straits,  wounded,  or  in  defense  of  its  young.  A  very 
comical  story  is  related  of  three  prospectors  who 
were  encamped  where  there  were  many  cinnamon 
bears.  At  night  the  boys  took  great  care  to  have 
a  large  log  on  the  fire  to  keep  away  those  prowl- 
ing monsters  who,  like  all  wild  animals,  fear  fire. 
The  smell  of  bacon  as  well  as  the  remains  of  deer 
brought  them  very  close  to  the  tent  at  night,  and 
the  smashing  of  twigs  by  these  heavy-weights  of 
the  forest  kept  the  miners  from  sleeping,  so  that 
at  intervals  the  latter  got  up  and  shot  off  their 
rifles,  which  had  the  effect  of  scaring  them  away. 
Miners  take  turns  in  cooking  on  those  prospect- 
ing excursions  and  all  become  more  or  less  per- 
fect in  the  culinary  art.  One  morning  when  two 

95 


IN   THK  SAN  JUAN      - 

of  them  were  in  bed  and  the  third  had  gone  to 
the  creek  for  a  bucket  of  water,  a  large  cinnamon 
bear  made  a  call.  The  bacon  was  sizzling  on  the 
fire  and  the  coffee  making  its  first  effort  to  boil. 
The  bear  stood  up  on  its  hind  feet,  grasped  the 
tent  at  the  opening,  pulled  it  aside  and  boldly 
walked  in,  paused  and  surveyed  the  situation. 
Tom  and  Bill  were  in  bed — knives,  pistols,  re- 
volvers and  Winchesters  were  within  easy  reach. 
The  first  sight  of  the  bear  put  them  into  a  state 
of  utter  helplessness.  Indeed,  it  is  said  that  Bill 
was  so  frightened  that  when  the  bear  turned  his 
back  for  further  investigation,  he  hid  under  his 
companion.  The  bear  at  once  began  operations 
by  putting  his  paw  into  the  frying-pan  and  seiz- 
ing a  large  piece  of  bacon.  But  he  certainly  did 
not  calculate  on  the  fire  and  dropped  the  tempt- 
ing morsel;  howling  with  pain,  he  danced  around 
the  room  for  some  time,  during  which  the  boys 
in  the  bunk  never  moved.  Seeing  a  sack  of 
flour  on  a  box  he  grabbed  it  in  his  paws  and 
ripped  the  sack  from  one  end  to  the  other,  scat- 
tering the  flour  in  every  direction.  Looking  at 
his  white  paws  for  a  moment  he  thought  the 
color  good  and  lay  down  and  rolled  over  and 
over,  so  that  he  rose  up  a  polar  bear,  and  scent- 
ing the  sugar  close  by  in  the  larder,  he  pulled 
out  the  sack  and  soon  had  devoured  the  greater 
part  of  it.  In  the  mean  time  the  third  man  re- 
turned from  the  creek,  and  catching  a  glimpse  of 
the  bear  climbed  a  tree  and  waited  until  the  bear 
departed, when  he  came  down,  and  taking  a  Win- 
chester, followed  the  trail.  He  did  not  have  far 
to  go  when  he  saw  bruin  sunning  himself  a  short 
distance  away  on  a  ledge  of  rock.  A  few  well- 
aimed  shots  did  the  rest,  and  the  boys  had  bear 

96 


THRIVING   INCIDENTS   OF  A  HUNTING  TRIP 

meat  for  some  time.  Next  to  the  bear,  the 
mountain  lion  is  the  largest,  most  powerful  and 
dangerous  wild  animal  in  the  mountains.  He 
makes  his  home  in  the  rugged  cliffs,  where  he 
finds  caves  running  into  the  depths  of  the  moun- 
tains. From  these  dens,  far  away  from  the  farm- 
houses, he  descends  into  the  valleys  at  night  and 
pounces  upon  calves,  sheep  and  sometimes  full- 
grown  horses  and  cattle.  It  is  said  that  lions  are 
natural  cowards  and  never  face  man  except  when 
cornered  and  forced  to  fight.  The  sound  of  a 
human  voice  fills  them  with  fright  and  they  at 
once  flee.  I  have  known  the  case  of  a  woman 
still  living  in  the  western  part  of  the  state  who 
had  a  thrilling  experience  with  a  mountain  lion. 
She  went  out  into  the  field  one  day  to  dig  pota- 
toes and  brought  the  baby  with  her,  wrapping  it 
tip  and  leaving  it  in  the  wagon  close  to  which 
she  was  working.  Looking  up  she  was  amazed 
to  see  what  she  took  for  a  large  dog,  jump  nimbly 
into  the  wagon.  Grasping  the  hoe,  she  ran 
toward  the  wagon,  screaming  at  the  top  of  her 
voice.  The  lion  went  up  toward  the  child,  seized 
it  by  the  clothes  and  tried  to  carry  it  off;  this  it 
could  not  easily  do,  as  the  child  was  heavy  and 
well  wrapped  in  a  blanket.  As  the  woman  ap- 
proached the  wagon  and  the  dog  came  running 
up,  the  lion  fled  without  making  an  attempt  to 
flght.  But  lions  are  not  always  cowardly. 

To  take  up,  however,  the  thread  of  my  sketch, 
I  must  say  that  Dennis  was  his  name  for 
that  night  anyhow,  for  he  had  to  get  up  often 
and  keep  the  fire  going.  Just  as  day  was 
breaking,  we  sallied  forth  and  skirted  the 
mountain  side  until  we  came  to  the  edge  of 
the  park.  It  consisted  of  about  200  acres  and 

97 


IN   THK   SAN  JUAN 

the  Missourian  had  not  exaggerated  its  charms. 
Through  it  ran  a  murmuring  stream,  which, 
flowed  far  down  into  Cow  Creek.  Van  went 
along  the  mountain  to  the  right,  the  Missouriart 
to  the  left,  and,  armed  with  a  gun  loaded  witk 
buckshot,  I  was  to  wait  for  the  deer  at  the  only 
outlet  we  knew  of.  Dennis  had  to  change  the 
pickets  of  the  horses  and  then  join  the  party. 
I  took  my  position  behind  a  clump  of  thick  wil- 
lows until  it  was  clear  day,  but  no  deer  was  in. 
sight.  After  a  while  I  meandered  down  the 
creek  in  the  direction  taken  by  my  companions, 
who  as  yet  had  not  fired  a  shot.  Presently  they 
returned  and  reported  that  there  was  not  a  fresh 
track  in  the  park  and  that  there  were  no  deer. 
So  we  turned  loose  and  soon  the  grouse  were  on 
the  move  and  rifle  and  shotgun  spoke  in  loud 
tones  in  the  mountain  stillness.  By  nine  o'clock 
we  had  bagged  quite  a  number  of  grouse  and  all 
assented  to  my  proposal,  that  we  should  go  down 
the  stream  and  through  the  canon  to  Cow  Creek, 
Dennis  brought  the  horses,  and  for  a  mile  or  so, 
we  followed  the  bed  of  the  stream.  The  water 
was  shallow  and  clear  as  crystal;  the  mountain 
trout  could  be  seen  breasting  the  stream  in  the 
swirling  rapids;  and  on  either  side  the  porphyry, 
granite  or  quartz  walls  rose  thousands  of  feet. 
At  length,  we  came  to  a  cascade  over  which  we 
could  not  take  the  horses.  We  were  compelled 
to  turn  back.  On  the  left  was  a  small  opening 
in  the  wall,  which  had  developed  into  a  good 
sized  gulch,  down  which  trickled  a  stream,  the 
bed  of  which  was  full  of  huge  boulders  and  dead 
trees.  Up  this  gulch  I  headed  my  horse  and 
called  the  boys  to  follow  me.  The  ascent  was 
tiresome,  but  at  last  we  arrived  at  the  top  of  a 


THRIVING   INCIDENTS  OF  A  HUNTING  TRIP 

liogback — in  the  ocean's  bed  it  would  be  called 
a  reef.  It  was  very  narrow,  and  we  had  to  em- 
ploy the  utmost  care  to  prevent  our  horses  from 
slipping  off.  On  taking  observations,  and  rind- 
ing that  we  were  about  six  miles  from  where  we 
took  lunch  the  day  before  at  noon,  we  set  out  in 
that  direction.  Coming  down  to  the  base  of  the 
mountain,  through  one  of  the  most  perilous 
passes,  as  it  was  the  path  of  a  yearly  snow- 
slide,  landslide  and  rockslide,  we  encountered 
the  remains  of  a  burro  with  the  packsaddle  still 
thrown  around  the  bones,  drills,  hammers,  axes, 
kettles  and  all  the  camp  utensils  necessary  for 
an  outfit.  A  few  boards  scattered  here  and  there, 
indicated  that  a  cabin  had  been  swept  away  in  a 
snowslide. 

THE  SNOWSIvIDB 

With  rumbling  tones,  the  mountain  woke, 
Tossed  like  a  giant,  shuddered,  spoke, 
L,ike  peals  of  thunder  in  storm's  wake, 
When  leaden  clouds  the  lightnings  break. 
The  calm,  placid  snow  untrodden  lay, 
Gathering  in  depth  from  day  to  day, 
Till  rock  and  tree  and  wooded  shade, 
Were  covered  close  with  frost  inlaid, 
Gulches  are  filled  and  dells  unseen. 
X/o  !  nature  in  her  winter  scene, 
That  will  remain,  unchanged  by  sun, 
Till  springtime  floods  in  torrents  run, 
Which  off  its  side  to  valleys  flow, 
And  make  the  peach  and  apple  grow. 
The  farmer,  glad  with  hopes  of  gain, 
Prepares  his  crop  for  grateful  rain, 
Which,  glist'ning  bright  in  banks  of  snow, 
In  summer's  heats  begins  to  flow, 
Waters  the  plains  and  arid  farms, 
And  gives  to  earth  her  youthful  charms. 
But,  hark,  the  power  on  Sneffles  crest, 
Hurls  the  huge  mass  from  off  its  breast. 
99 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

Wildly  adown  the  slope  it  speeds, 
The  pines  it  snaps  like  hollow  reeds; 
Boulders  and  trees  dashed  out  and  in, 
It  sweeps  along  with  deaf 'ning  din, 
Catching  them  up,  twisted  and  broke, 
The  relics  of  a  single  stroke. 
Far,  far  below  in  mountains  moat, 
Crushed,  buried  in  the  abyssmal  throat. 
The  fallen  tree,  the  cabin  bare, 
Tell  the  bold  miner  to  beware, 
While  seeking  wealth  on  mountain  side, 
Death's  embrace  of  the  rueful  slide. 

We  looked  carefully  about  for  the  remains  of 
man,  but  found  none.  From  the  appearances 
we  concluded  the  accident  had  happened  several 
years  before.  At  the  base  of  this  mountain,  we 
took  our  rations,  which  were  down  to  bed  rock, 
and  then  pushed  on  over  the  mountain,  coming 
out  at  a  point  about  two  miles  from  where  we 
came  up  the  preceding  day.  Van  got  his  eye  on 
some  fresh  deer  tracks;  and,  as  it  was  then  only 
about  two  in  the  afternoon,  we  determined  to 
follow  these  tracks  some  distance.  For  about 
three  miles,  the  deer  kept  the  top  of  the  range, 
swinging  around  to  the  Dallas.  They  then 
turned  down  into  the  timber,  and  we  all  dismount- 
ed, tied  our  horses,  and  made  a  bold  dash  for  a 
deer.  While  the  boys  kept  in  the  trail,  I  went 
around  the  side  of  the  hill.  In  this  manner  the 
whole  gulch  might  be  more  easily  covered. 
Prince  was  with  me,  and  hard  to  hold.  All  at 
once,  the  loud  report  of  a  Winchester  broke  the 
silence,  and  a  moment  later  a  deer  rushed  up  the 
gulch,  tried  to  jump  a  high  bank,  missed  it,  and 
fell  back,  turning  completely  over;  plainly  he 
was  a  much-scared  deer;  but,  retrieving  himself 
in  an  instant,  he  was  up  and  gone.  The  boys 
followed  the  trail  down  the  gulch  and  were  soon 
100 


THRIVING  INCIDENTS  OF  A  HUNTING  TRIP 

lost  to  view.  I  hunted  for  some  time,  killing 
half  a  dozen  grouse,  and  waited  patiently  for 
their  return.  At  last  I  began  to  think  that  they 
were  lost.  It  was  almost  dark,  the  trail  was 
very  dim,  the  autumn  leaves  were  falling,  and 
the  wind  began  to  whirl  them  over  the  road. 
After  firing  my  gun  several  times,  the  boys  came 
back,  empty-handed  and  disgusted  with  deer 
hunting. 

As  night  was  fast  approaching,  we  mounted 
and  rode  away.  We  got  along  pretty  fairly  for 
a  short  time,  but,  as  we  lost  the  trail,  it  was 
fully  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  we  found  it, 
and  time  was  then  valuable.  We  were  at  an 
altitude  of  1 1 ,000  feet  with  only  a  deer  trail,  which 
ran  around  the  backbone  of  the  range  to  lead  us 
down,  and  as  long  as  we  kept  it,  we  were  safe. 
But  Dennis,  as  well  as  the  Missourian,  thought 
we  should  go  down  one  of  the  many  gulches  to 
the  left;  in  their  opinion,  any  one  of  them  would 
bring  us  to  the  main  road  in  the  valley.  I  pro- 
tested that  we  could  not  get  through  the  fallen 
timber,  while,  by  keeping  the  ridge,  we  should 
arrive  sooner  at  our  destination,  although  the 
distance  was  twice  as  great.  My  protest  was 
vain,  so  we  went  down  the  gulch.  It  must 
have  been  about  six  o'clock  when  we  reached 
this  conclusion.  As  we  descended,  the  timber 
became  thicker  and  the  fallen  trees  lay  in  every 
possible  position,  forming  a  network  of  inter- 
laced pines,  poplar  and  shrubbery.  The  situa- 
tion was  sufficiently  exasperating,  but  we  had  to 
trudge  along,  carrying  our  guns  and  leading 
our  horses.  Becoming  thirsty,  we  could  find  no 
water,  as  the  gulch  was  dry.  My  companions 
wished  to  camp,  but  I  was  determined  at  all 
101 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

hazards  to  reach  Ouray  that  night.  The  gulch 
finally  narrowed  down  to  a  few  feet  in  width, 
and  the  bottom  was  filled  with  holes,  washed  out 
by  the  summer's  rains.  Time  and  again,  we 
stumbled,  and  the  horses  stumbled  with  us;  in 
fact,  it  was  a  series  of  stumblings  over  fallen 
timber,  until  we  came  to  a  great  washout,  which 
checked  our  further  progress.  Here  again  the 
boys  said  they  wanted  to  camp,  but  I  was 
inexorable.  Burning  with  thirst  and  sweating  like 
a  harvest  hand,  I  turned  up  the  side  of  the  moun- 
tain, leading  my  horse  over  the  rocks,  jumping 
from  shelf  to  shelf,  and  feeling  my  way  with  my 
gun  where  I  could  not  see.  Again,  I  sought 
the  bottom  of  the  gulch,  and  reached  a  better 
path.  At  last  we  struck  another  gulch,  which 
contained  a  welcome  stream.  Thankful  for  this 
unexpected  blessing,  we  knelt  on  the  brink  and 
drank  to  our  heart's  content.  After  a  few 
moments'  rest  we  resumed  our  journey  and  came 
out  on  the  road. ,  We  reached  Ouray  at  three  in 
the  morning,  after  a  chapter  of  surprises  and  mis- 
haps. Our  hunting  expedition  had  proved  a 
failure;  and,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  grouse, 
we  had  nothing  to  show  for  two  da}rs'  hard 
work.  However,  we  had  a  splendid  outing,  for, 
besides  the  exciting  incidents  of  the  trip,  we 
were  delighted  with  the  magnificent  scenery  of 
the  mountains.  While  the  sublime  prevails,  the 
varied  elements  of  the  grand  and  romantic  are 
not  wanting.  No  man  can  travel  through  the 
mountains  without  a  deepening  impression  of 
the  majesty  of  the  Creator;  no  one  can  stand  in 
the  presence  of  the  snow-capped  peaks,  over 
which  sunshine  and  shadow  pursue  each  other, 
without  feeling  an  impulse  to  elevate  his  soul  to 
102 


THRILLING   INCIDENTS  OF  A   HUNTING  TRIP 

God,  the  author  and  the  finisher  of  the  beautiful 
and  the  sublime.  A  trip  to  the  mountains  con- 
vinces the  religious  mind  of  the  existence  of 
divine  power,  wisdom  and  goodness,  and  inspires 
the  man  of  good  will  with  the  resolution  to  seek 
first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  His  justice.  Where 
all  is  so  divine,  surely  the  spirit  of  man  should 
not  be  merely  human. 


103 


SEVENTH  SKETCH 

THE  San  Juan  is  inhabited  by  people  of  Euro- 
pean extraction,  as  well  as  descendants  of 
the  aborigines.  The  proud  blood  of  the 
Aztecs  flows  in  the  veins  of  the  Mexican,  who 
urges  over  the  mountains  the  pack  train,  loaded 
down  with  everything  from  a  quarter  of  beef  to 
the  long  slender  bar  of  iron  which  is  used  for  the 
mine  track.  The  wiry  Scotchman,  the  robust  Irish- 
man work  side  by  side  with  the  stocky  Italian  and 
the  self-possessed  American.  Now  and  then  the 
thrifty  Scandinavian  finds  his  way  to  the  camp 
congress  of  the  nations,  and  shows  himself  to  be 
a  giant  of  the  drill.  The  phlegmatic  Austrian 
stands  side  by  side  with  the  stanch  son  of  Corn- 
wall. Here  is  a  variety  of  nationality  and  char- 
acter which  promises  a  wide  field  for  the  study  of 
human  nature.  The  natural  virtues  shine  in  the 
lives  of  these  hard-working  miners  with  a  splen- 
dor that  finds  its  counterpart  in  some  of  Rome's 
greatest  men.  When  sickness,  accident,  or  death 
comes  to  the  cabin,  all  thoughts  of  self  are  dis- 
missed. But  when  snowslides  come  down  the 
mountain  side,  bearing  many  to  death,  when 
pneumonia  afflicts  the  young  and  strong,  or  the 
premature  blast  opens  the  day  of  eternity  to  the 
most  careful  and  virtuous,  these  disciples  of  hu- 
manitarianism  are  thrown  into  a  panic.  To  the 
religious  mind  the  reflection  then  comes,  that 
while  natural  virtues  are  good  enough  for  passing 
ends,  positive  religion  based  on  divine  faith  is 
necessary  to  stem  the  tide  of  fear  and  despair  that 
floods  a  man's  heart  when  death  knocks  at  the 

104 


A  DEVOTED   MOTHER   IN   ADVERSITY 

door.  This  truth  vividly  struck  me  when  stand- 
ing at  one  of  those  death-bed  scenes  at  which  the 
clergyman  is  called  to  assist. 

I  once  met  an  old  man  who  exemplified  many 
of  the  qualities  of  natural,  as  distinguished  from 
revealed,  religion.  He  was  about  sixty-five  years 
old  when  I  made  his  acquaintance.  Having 
served  in  the  Mexican  war,  and  commanded  one 
of  Joe  Reynolds'  steamboats  upon  the  Missis- 
sippi, he  acquired  the  title  of  captain  by  courtesy. 
Generous  to  a  fault,  and  with  a  hand  never 
closed  to  the  needy,  the  captain  was  honored  and 
respected  by  all  who  knew  him.  At  sixty-five 
he  was  hale  and  hearty,  and  as  active  as  a  man 
of  forty.  The  rich  strikes  attracted  him  to  Colo- 
rado, and  through  his  influence,  which  proved  to 
have  been  unwisely  exerted,  many  of  his  friends 
lost  their  investments  in  barren  prospects.  As  to 
himself,  he  struggled  some  years,  working  the 
mines  alone,  and  striving  to  interest  others  in 
what  he  believed  would  develop  into  paying 
properties.  He  lost  his  money  by  degrees  and 
was  compelled  to  lock  the  door  on  the  tunnel, 
abandon  his  little  cabin  on  the  hillside  and  seek 
the  mining  camp,  where  he  dragged  out  a  poor 
existence  by  keeping  a  lodging  house.  Meeting 
the  boys  in  the  street,  he  would  solicit  them  to 
patronize  his  house  so  that  he  might  make  a  few 
dollars  to  help  him  along.  When  I  visited  the 
camp  I  always  occupied  his  neat  little  parlor. 
We  were  great  friends,  and  had  many  a  pleasant 
chat  together.  Sometimes  the  conversation  would 
turn  upon  religious  subjects.  His  tenets  were 
those  of  the  sceptic,  and  all  his  belief  was 
confined  to  the  natural.  Of  the  future  his  high- 
est conception  was  that  he  would  not  have  to 

105 


IN   THK   SAN  JUAN 

work  mines,  keep  hotels  or  run  a  lodging  house. 
In  this  respect  he  did  not  differ  from  the  Indian, 
who  looks  upon  hunting  as  the  occupation  of  de- 
parted souls.  He  entertained,  in  a  word,  rather 
hazy  views  of  the  state  of  man  after  his  death, 
but  declared  that  death  was  as  a  sleep,  that  it  had 
no  terrors  for  him  and  that  he  would  face  it  with- 
out emotion.  In  the  event,  however,  it  was 
pretty  well  shown  that  he  feared  the  universal 
messenger,  and  that  although  life  had  burned 
down  to  the  ashes,  he  hoped  to  live  a  little  longer. 
He  was  appalled  by  the  thought  of  leaving  the 
world.  I  shall  not  forget  the  day  I  sat  beside 
his  cot  in  the  old  lodging  house,  endeavoring  to 
inspire  him  with  hope  in  the  future.  Despair 
was  written  on  every  line  in  his  face,  and  his  wild 
eye  seemed  to  be  searching  for  some  ray  of  light. 
But  of  hope  there  was  none  for  him;  and  the  old 
man,  worn  out  by  a  long  illness,  pleaded  piteous- 
ly  for  escape  from  the  deathly  reaper.  There, 
with  eyes  fast  set,  short,  quick  breathing,  sharp 
jerks  of  the  limbs,  he  tossed  upon  his  couch, 
clutching  the  bedclothes  and  writhing  in  the  last 
agony.  It  was  a  fearful  sight.  It  seemed  like  a 
literal  interpretation  of  the  words  of  the  apostle, 
"It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  living  Crod."  With  his  closely-drawn  feat- 
ures, and  his  glazed  eye  apparently  fastened  upon 
me,  I  was  deeply  moved  at  a  situation  which 
contained  none  of  the  consoling  features  of  the 
deathbed  of  the  Christian.  But,  of  course,  there 
is  no  limit  to  the  uncovenanted  mercies  of  God, 
Who  knows  the  clay  of  which  His  creatures  are 
made.  Still  ,1  felt  a  certain  sadness  at  the  pain- 
ful struggles  of  one  who  departed  this  life  with- 
out the  supernatural  habits.  I  do  not  mean  to 

106 


A   DEVOTED   MOTHER   IN  ADVERSITY 

say  that  the  unbeliever  and  sceptic  always  die  in 
horror.  Indeed,  they  sometimes  pass  away,  as 
they  came  into  the  world,  without  any  sign  of 
consciousness,  but  the  calmness  and  fortitude  dis- 
played by  them  are  of  a  stoical  cast,  and  devoid  of 
the  true  spirit  of  resignation  which  is  expressed 
by  the  disciple  of  a  revealed  religion.  At  the 
moment  of  his  departure  from  this  life,  the 
luminous  truth  breaks  upon  the  thoughtful  man, 
that  there  are  two  beings  evident  to  him,  God 
and  himself;  and  from  the  standpoint  of  a  merely 
natural  religion,  he  must  regard  that  God  as  a 
judge,  clothed  with  terrors.  At  such  a  time  the 
unbeliever  feels  "the  soul-piercing  reality  of 
Lucretius, ' '  speaking  of  religion  and  the  threaten- 
ing character  it  wears  in  the  eyes  of  the  infidel. 
As  the  thirsty  traveler  welcomes  the  inviting 
spring,  so  do  I  hail  the  transition  of  my  theme 
from  the  sombre  side  of  life,  fashioned  after  the 
purely  natural,  to  the  sunny  side  of  life  patterned 
upon  the  supernatural.  In  the  second  year,  of 
my  missionary  labors  in  the  southwest,  a  Mrs. 

K came  to  the  San  Juan.     She  was  a  native 

of  Manchester,  England,  and  the  mother  of  five 
children,  left  to  her  by  a  penniless  husband,  who, 
at  the  early  age  of  thirty,  died  of  consumption. 
For  two  years  after  his  death  she  toiled  hard  at  the 
great  manufacturing  centre.  During  the  day 
she  entrusted  the  little  ones  to  the  care  of  a  feeble 
old  grandma,  who  tottered  around  on  her  crutch, 
taking  oatmeal  and  milk,  with  a  little  bread  and 
tea,  three  times  a  day,  rather  than  apply  for  more 
nutritious  food  at  the  workhouse.  So,  the  little 
pale-faced  woman,  day  by  day  trudged  to  and 
from  the  mill,  making  barely  enough  to  save  the 
children  from  starvation  during  the  week  and 

107 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

give  them  a  decent  dinner  on  Sunday.  Retiring 
late  to  bed  and  rising  early,  she  snatched  a  few 
minutes  from  the  long  hours  of  her  daily  task  to 
mend  the  thin  garments  of  her  fatherless  children 
and  instil  into  their  minds  the  principles  of  re- 
ligion. As  some  satisfaction  for  her  motherly  at- 
tention she  beheld  her  children  always  neat  and 
clean,  and  far  above  the  average  children  in  those 
poverty-stricken  districts.  Being  a  woman  of 
good  conscience  and  some  culture,  she  realized 
her  obligations  to  give  her  girls  a  practical  train- 
ing, suitable  to  equip  them  for  the  duties  of  life. 
The  eldest  girl  at  the  age  of  twelve  began  to 
assist  her  mother  in  providing  for  the  family.  The 
mother  and  daughter  managed  their  domestic  af- 
fairs so  well  that  they  were  enabled  to  put  aside  a 

few  dollars.  A  year  later  Mrs.  K sent  the  two 

eldest  girls  to  night  school,  that  they  might  acquire 
a  knowledge  of  the  arts  of  housekeeping  and  fine 
sewing.  They  made  rapid  progress,  and  at  the 
end  of  two  years,  the  older  one  graduating  with 
distinction,  was  appointed  assistant  teacher  at  the 
school. 

Mrs.  K had  a  brother  in  the  San  Juan  who 

was  always  writing  to  her  of  the  grand  oppor- 
tunities of  this  country.  His  letters  were  replete 
with  the  accounts  of  success  and  wealth  in  a  land 
where  the  poor  became  rich,  the  weak  strong  and 
all  sorts  of  diseases  cured, 

"Where  a  man  is  a  man,  if  he  is  willing  to  toil, 
And  the  humblest  may  gather  the  fruits  of  the  soil." 

Mrs.   K 's  life  was  wearing  out  slowly  but 

surely  in  the  close  atmosphere  of  the  mills.  The 
dread  finger  of  consumption  had  begun  to  trace 
its  first  lines  in  her  wan  face.  Why  should  she 

108 


A   DEVOTED   MOTHER   IN   ADVERSITY 

not  go  to  America,  where  she  would  have  at 
least  fresh  air?  Encouraged  by  the  letters  of 
her  brother,  who  sent  her  the  requisite  passage 
money,  she  packed  up  her  few  belongings,  and, 
with  her  children,  set  out  for  the  bright  land  of 
the  San  Juan,  which  she  reached  in  midwinter. 
The  entire  mountain  region  lay  under  many  feet 
of  snow,  and  for  days  and  weeks  the  trains  be- 
tween Silverton  and  Durango  were  blocked.  It 
took  a  large  body  of  men  three  weeks  to  clear 
the  track  from  the  effects  of  a  snowslide  which 
had  come  down  into  the  Animas  canon.  What  a 
contrast  to  the  mild  winter  of  England  !  After 

many  untoward  events  Mrs.   K arrived   at 

Silverton,  where  she  engaged  a  modest  residence 
for  herself  and  her  family.  Beginnings  are 
described  as  small,  and  they  were  very  small  in 
the  case  of  an  invalid  who  had  very  limited  re- 
sources. The  weather  was  extremely  cold,  fuel 
high,  and  provisions  dear;  so,  the  few  dollars  she 
brought  with  her  from  England  were  soon  spent. 
Looking  around  for  some  aid  in  her  distress,  she 
received  a  lesson  which  comes  to  most  people 
sooner  than  they  expect,  that  friendship  does  not 

wear  best  in  adversity.     Mrs.  K ,  however, 

had  studied  in  a  good  school,  and  learned  to  bear 
the  trials  of  life  with  becoming  composure.  One 
of  the  sources  of  her  affliction  was  the  want  of 
weekly  mass  and  Sunday-school  for  her  daugh- 
ters. While  she  labored  assiduously  to  supply 
these  deficiencies  by  teaching  her  children  her- 
self, her  heart  was  ready  to  break  at  the  thought 
that  she  had  left  home  and  kind  friends  for  a  land  of 
strangers.  No  one  can  fail  to  observe  that  the 
great  masses  of  humanity  are  ever  ready  for 
change,  purely  and  simply,  without  regard  to  even 

109 


IN   THK   SAN  JUAN 

temporal  gain.  Men  leave  comfortable  homes  to 
find  the  sources  of  the  Nile,  or  track  the  alligator 
in  the  swamps,  for  adventure.  And  it  is  a  wise 
dispensation  of  Providence,  stagnation  being  the 
death  of  progress.  How  often  is  utter  indiffer- 
ence to  results,  the  practical  answer  to  the 
admonition  of  prudence,  which  embodies  experi- 
ence in  the  familiar  saying:  '  'You  may  go  farther, 
and  fare  worse!" 

The  long  dreary  winter  made  way  for  the  soft 
warm  sunshine  of  spring.  But  Mrs.  K con- 
tinued to  sink.  The  hollow  cough  and  the  hectic 
flush  told  of  the  ravages  of  the  fatal  disease, 
and  lead  so  many  to  the  delusive  belief  that 
death  has  not  planted  its  standard  on  their  perish- 
ing system.  Rallying  slightly  with  the  change 
of  season,  she  resolved  to  go  to  Rico,  at  the  time 
a  lively  camp,  where  there  was  a  pretty  fair 
prospect  of  earning  a  livelihood.  Upon  her  ar- 
rival at  that  town,  she  found  that  houses  were  at 
a  premium,  so  it  was  hard  to  secure  a  dwelling  at 
any  price.  After  much  hunting  around,  she 
succeeded  in  renting  a  small  cabin  on  the  Dolores, 
a  few  miles  from  Rico.  Here  she  lived  all  sum- 
mer. The  girls,  who  were  experts  with  the 
needle,  made  heavy  flannel  shirts  and  socks, 
which  they  readily  sold  to  the  miners.  Thus 
passed  the  summer,  and  with  good  management, 
sufficient  money  was  saved  to  tide  the  family 

over  the  winter.     Mrs.  K was  made  happy 

by  seeing  in  her  children  the  fruits  of  her  judici- 
ous methods  of  education.  Instead  of  foolishly 
striving  to  load  them  down  with  frivolous  ac- 
complishments, of  which  they  were  never  likely 
to  make  profitable  use,  she  trained  their  hands 
and  eyes  to  remunerative  employment.  She  felt 
no 


A   DEVOTED   MOTHER  IN   ADVERSITY 

bound  in  conscience  to  procure  for  them  such  a 
training  as  would  enable  them  to  support  them- 
selves. Her  knowledge  of  life  taught  her  that 
what  business  success  demands  is  not  the  ability 
to  shine  in  declamation,  play  the  pretty  in  the 
parlor,  or  loll  upon  a  divan,  dreaming  of  the 
fool's  paradise,  in  which  the  chief  diversion  is 
1  'sipping  the  wine  of  Ispahan;"  but  that  manual 
industrial  schooling  is  what  the  majority  of  boys 
and  girls  need  to  enjoy  a  fair  measure  of  happi- 
ness here  and,  it  may  be  said,  a  better  prospect 
of  happiness  hereafter.  There  are,  even  in  our 
day  of  general  advancement,  some  departures 
from  the  true  scheme  of  enlightenment.  "By 
its  fruits  ye  shall  know  the  tree, ' '  and  it  is  not 
wide  of  the  mark  to  say,  that  the  state  would  not 
be  so  deeply  infected  with  socialism  and  the  other 
prevailing  isms,  if  the  practical  received  a  more 
careful  consideration  in  the  plans  of  education. 
Many  young  men,  after  spending  long  years  por- 
ing over  books  at  academy  or  college,  are  disap- 
pointed on  the  threshold  of  life,  at  not  being  ap- 
preciated at  college  standards,  and  obliged  to 
seek  positions,  in  competition  with  the  less 
favored  crowd,  who  have  little  book  learning,  but 
some  common  sense.  A  few  years,  however, 
teach  the  distinguished  graduate  that  while 
poetry  and  eloquence  adorn  the  high  places,  won 
by  persevering  toil,  employers  generally  seek  not 
brilliant  scholars,  but  industrious,  reliable  work- 
ers. The  sooner  our  youth  learn  that  they  must 
begin  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder  and  under  the 
wholesome  discipline  of  hard  knocks  work  to 
the  top,  the  sooner  they  will  fit  themselves  for 
prosperous  careers.  Young  women,  too,  learn 
that  "life  is  real,  life  is  earnest,"  and  wholly  un- 
111 


IN  THE   SAN  JUAN 

like  the  beguiling  descriptions  of '  'mansions  in  the 
moon,"  which  fill  the  pages  of  an  ephemeral 
literature.  The  last  panic  that  befell  this  coun- 
try revealed  many  of  the  hidden  workings  of  a 
false  system  of  economics,  and  emphasizes  the 
fact  that  we  are  in  a  new  era  of  development. 
The  people  of  the  United  States  are  ancestors 
themselves,  and  in  a  constant  state  of  evolution, 
framing  by  successful  experiment,  a  destiny,  un- 
thought  of  by  past  generations.  We  have  broken 
away  from  the  cast-iron  theories  and  straight 
lines  of  our  forefathers.  This  is  an  accomplished 
fact,  and  our  methods  are  different  from  those  of 
Europe.  We  begin  where  the  people  of  Europe 
have  left  off.  We  recognize  woman  as  the  equal 
not  the  inferior  of  man,  and  many  of  the  states 
have  removed  the  common  law  disabilities  of  the 
woman.  A  wit  has  remarked  that  woman  was 
superior  to  man,  now  she  is  only  his  equal. 
Without  considering  the  merits  of  this  change 
from  the  traditions  of  the  past,  or  pretending  to 
discuss  the  wisdom  of  this  policy,  it  is  sufficient 
to  say  that  in  most  of  our  cities,  women  are 
found  in  offices  and  positions  which,  twenty 
years  ago,  were  filled  by  men  only.  As  women 
then  have  enlarged  opportunities  of  usefulness, 
they  must  equip  themselves  for  their  new  duties. 
But  they  must  not  forget  that  they  are  women, 
as  well  as  citizens,  and  that  their  first  duty  is  to 
preside  over  the  home  as  its  queen,  not  usurping, 
but  sharing  the  authority  of  the  natural  head  of 
the  family.  Besides  the  breadwinner  there  is  a 
breadmaker,  besides  the  clothweaver  there  is  a 
clothpatcher,  in  short  there  must  be  a  trained 
housekeeper,  who  keeps  the  dyspepsia  from  her 
husband  and  makes  the  most  out  of  the  least.  In 
112 


A  DEVOTED   MOTHER  IN  ADVERSITY 

the  manual  school,  our  girls  should  be  taught  to 
make  a  good  loaf  of  bread,  sew  neatly,  keep  a 
house  clean,  help  the  young  husband  to  establish 
himself  in  business,  and  perhaps  to  appreciate  the 
wisdom  of  minding  their  own  domestic  affairs. 
But,  of  course,  manual  training  is  not  a  panacea 
for  all  the  ills  of  life.  The  education  of  the  hand 
and  the  eye  is  not  sufficient.  The  heart  must  be 
educated,  and  education  must  be  founded  on 
principles  of  morality  and  religion.  Without 
God  there  can  be  no  common  wealth.  Aristotle, 
in  considering  the  comparative  merits  of  different 
systems  of  government,  maintains  that  without 
intelligence  and  virtue  a  republic  cannot  endure. 
I  fully  appreciate  the  prizes  held  out  to  those 
who  obtain  eminence  in  the  higher  arts  and 
sciences,  and  that  these  prizes  are  worth  striving 
for.  In  fine,  it  is  the  duty  of  the  educator  to 
impress  upon  the  minds  of  the  rising  generation 
that  any  calling  in  life,  whether  high  or  low,  is 
praiseworthy. 

"Honor  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise. 
Act  well  your  part,  there  all  the  honor  lies.*' 

In  the  fall  Mrs.  K began  to  show  symp- 
toms of  heart  failure,  and  the  physician  ordered 
her  at  once  to  a  lower  altitude.  On  my  arrival 
at  Rico,  her  daughters  informed  me  of  her  con- 
dition and  requested  me  to  go  down  to  the  little 
cabin,  say  mass,  and  prepare  their  dear  mother 
for  her  last  journey.  I  found  the  patient  woman, 
frail  and  wasted,  but  calm  and  resigned.  This 
world  had  lost  its  charms  for  her,  and  the  world 
to  come  had  no  terrors  for  her.  When  she  spoke 
of  leaving  her  children,  she  said:  "Why  should 
I  fret,  since  I  receive  all  my  afflictions  from  the 

113 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

hand  of  God.  He  is  my  father  and  their  father, 
and  in  His  care,  iny  children  are  safe."  The 
little  parlor  was  clean  and  neat,  with  home- 
woven  carpets  upon  the  floor;  and  bunches  of  wild 
flowers,  gathered  from  the  mountains  by  the 
girls,  gave  the  altar  a  bright  appearance.  Five 
candles  of  virgin  white,  decorated  with  delicate 
colors  and  encircled  by  crowns  of  artificial 
flowers,  had  been  placed  upon  the  altar.  I  re- 
marked that  two  candles  were  enough,  and  in- 
quired why  these  wreaths  of  roses  were  placed 
around  the  candles.  '  (Oh  Father, ' '  said  the  girls, 
1  'these  are  our  first  communion  candles  and 
crowns.  We  are  making  a  small  offering  to  our 
blessed  Lord,  just  as  we  did  at  our  first  com- 
munion in  Manchester.  It  is  all  we  have  to  give 
Him.  Mamma  said  we  should  make  a  complete 
offering  of  all  we  had,  and  here  are  our  candles 
and  flowers,  and  our  better  possessions,  our  souls 
and  bodies." 

The  next  morning,  I  said  mass  at  five  o'clock, 
and  another  candle  and  wreath  were  added  to  the 
group  of  lights,  as  the  youngest  child  was  about 
to  receive  her  first  holy  communion.  The  story  of 
the  mother  of  the  Maccabees  came  to  my  mind,  as 
that  Christian  mother  knelt  with  her  children  at 
the  altar.  There  they  were,  six  devout  mortals, 
with  tears  streaming  down  their  cheeks.  I  pro- 
nounced the  solemn  words:  "Behold  the  Lamb 
of  God,  who  takes  away  the  sins  of  the  world," 
and  the  confession  of  faith  and  humility:  "Lord, 
I  am  not  worthy  that  Thou  shouldst  enter  under 
my  roof,  say  but  the  word  and  my  soul  shall  be 
healed,"  and  gave  them  the  Bread  of  Life.  It 
was  a  sublime  spectacle,  which  it  is  the  privilege 
of  the  Christian  religion  alone  to  offer.  I  am  frank 

114 


A   DEVOTED   MOTHER   IN   ADVERSITY 

to  confess  that  I  was  touched  by  the  solemnity  of 
the  scene,  as  the  dawn  with  silent  step  stole  down 
from  the  gray  peaks  into  the  valley  of  the 
Dolores. 

After  breakfast,  a  ranchman  drove  up  to  the 
door  of  the  cabin.  We  all  assisted  in  packing 
the  few  effects  of  the  family  into  the  wagon,  and 
in  a  short  time,  the  little  cabin  on  the  Dolores 
was  tenantless.  Mrs.  K was  made  as  comfort- 
able as  possible,  and  accompanied  by  her  daugh- 
ters, set  out  to  Cortez,  where,  in  the  Monte- 
zuma  valley  with  its  inferior  altitude  and  milder 
winter,  she  fancied  she  might  grow  strong.  I 
promised  to  visit  her  before  the  weather  became 
too  cold,  and  confer  upon  her  again  the  consola- 
tions of  our  holy  religion.  "But  man  proposes 
and  God  disposes. ' '  She  went  east,  where  she 
died  as  became  a  woman  who  in  affliction  at- 
tained sanctity. 

Saddling  old  Bill,  I  was  soon  on  my  way  up 
the  gulch,  and  winding  along  the  narrow  wagon 
road,  which  makes  its  way  serpent-like  on  the  side 
of  the  mountains  to  the  Hermosa.  The  day  was 
beautiful.  The  sunlight  in  flitting  shadows  was 
creeping  higher  and  higher  up  the  mountain. 
About  noon  I  reached  the  Hermosa,  unsaddled 
my  horse  aud  picketed  him  in  the  long  grass. 
While  I  was  reclining  in  the  shade  and  eating 
my  lunch,  a  man  came  down  the  gulch  riding  a 
roan  pony  and  urging  on  four  tired  looking  burros 
laden  with  several  sacks  of  ore,  blankets, 
shovels,  pans,  picks,  drills  and  the  sheet  iron 
stove  which  the  miner  always  carries  with  him. 
A  short-tailed  dog,  limping  on  three  legs,  brought 
up  the  rear  of  the  sorry-looking  caravan.  The 
stranger  halted  at  the  stream,  and  dismounting, 

115 


IN   THE  SAN  JUAN 

permitted  the  pony  to  plunge  in  and  drink  of  the 
refreshing  water.  To  meet  a  person  in  the  wilds 
is  a  great  blessing,  and  I  saluted  the  man  by  re- 
marking: '  'A  pretty  warm  day."  He  recognized 
my  salute  and  said:  "Yes,  awful  hot  for  this 
time  of  the  year,"  and  lying  down  on  his  face, 
drank  long  and  deep  from  the  stream.  Having- 
fastened  his  pony,  he  walked  over  to  me,  and 
threw  himself  on  the  grass  beside  me.  He  was 
fully  six  feet  three,  and  very  muscular.  He  had 
long,  red,  unkempt  hair  and  beard.  With  a 
hearty  good  will,  he  accepted  my  invitation  to 
lunch.  "You  have  been  out  prospecting' '  I  said. 
"Yes,  eight  weeks  now,"  he  remarked,  "andl've 
had  a  fearful  time  up  there  at  the  foot  of  those  high 
mountains.  I  found  some  very  good  signs  at  the 
head  of  a  little  creek,  and  camped  there.  I 
washed  out  quite  a  bit  of  gold  too,"  and  he  drew 
out  of  his  pocket  a  large  tobacco  sack  full  of 
black  sand  and  gold  specks.  '  'Yes,  it  was  hard  to 
get.  There  was  no  water  of  any  account,  and 
you  cannot  get  the  stuff  without  plenty  of  water. 
But  I  tell  you  I  had  lots  of  water  the  night  before 
last;  and  but  for  the  little  mouse-colored  burro 
over  there  I  might  have  been  killed  or  drowned. 
You  see  the  gulch  was  very  narrow,  with  steep 
banks  on  either  side.  We  had  a  cloudburst. 
Such  rain,  great  Caesar  !  it  came  down  in  tor- 
rents, it  fairly  spilled  over;  it  was  more  like  a 
deluge  than  an  ordinary  rainstorm.  I  was  curled 
up  in  my  tent  with  Jerry,  my  dog,  and  trying  to 
keep  dry,  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  that  old  burro 
ran  up  to  the  tent  and  began  to  bray.  The  bray- 
ing of  the  donkey,  the  peals  of  thunder  and  the 
barking  of  Jerry,  made  a  terrible  din.  I  got  up 
and  peering  out,  saw  by  the  lightning  that  the 

116 


A   DEVOTED   MOTHER   IN  ADVERSITY 

creek  was  rapidly  filling  up.  The  water  was 
then  close  to  the  tent.  I  had  no  time  to  lose,  so 
I  rose  quickly,  pulled  the  pickets  of  the  burros 
and  barely  got  them  to  a  place  of  safety  when  a 
mass  of  logs  upset  the  tent  and  broke  poor  Jerry's 
leg.  Yesterday  I  dug  out  my  things  and  they 
look  pretty  tough,  but  I  tell  you  were  it  not  for 
that  old  burro  I  might  have  been  a  goner. ' '  I 
should  feel  I  was  doing  an  injustice  to  one  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Rockies,  were  I  to  take  only  a 
passing  notice  of  that  humble,  domestic  animal, 
the  burro,  known  in  musical  circles  under  the 
facetious  appellation  of  the  Rocky  Mountain 
canary.  I  am  free  to  state  that  I  cannot  give 
unstinted  praise  to  his  assaults  upon  the  higher 
notes  of  the  first  tenor;  for  the  quality  of  his 
voice  would  not  recommend  him  to  the  manager 
of  an  operatic  company,  were  he  in  quest  of  a 
good  chorus.  However,  as  a  slight  recognition 
of  his  valuable  services  to  man  in  doubt  and  trial, 
I  offer  the  following  tribute: 

THE  BURRO 

When  Adam  named  in  days  of  old, 
The  bird  and  beast  and  every  fold, 
He  gave  to  each  its  proper  class, 
And  well  defined  the  gentle  ass, 
His  ears  made  long,  inclined  to  flap, 
Down  his  shoulders  is  nature's  strap. 
Thus  marked,  he  went  o'er  the  world  wide, 
To  help  us  all  by  easy  stride. 
Docile,  humble,  of  low  degree, 
Destined  ever  a  slave  to  be, 
He  took  his  place  when  time  began, 
And  since  has  been  the  friend  of  man. 
From  Eastern  climes  he  made  his  way,  , 

Where  his'try  marks  his  longest  stay, 
And  to  the  West,  o'er  ocean's  main, 
With  Adam's  sons  he  swelled  the  train; 
117 


IN   THK   SAN  JUAN 

But  man,  like  ever-shifting  fame, 
Resolved  to  change  the  donkey's  name. 
Away  on  mountain,  far  from  throng, 
The  sound  he  made,  man  called  a  song. 
So,  moved  by  notes,  most  deem  scary, 
Some  dub  him  now  the  new  canary. 

From  early  morn  to  close  of  day, 
He  sings  his  song  the  same  old  way. 
His  voice  is  harsh,  a  choking  roar, 
And  fills  the  mind  with  thoughts  of  gore. 
His  notes, — one  short,  with  two  quite  long, 
Contain  the  burden  of  his  song. 
At  midnight  hour  when  nature  rests, 
His  crooning  bray  breaks  out  the  best, 
And  o'er  the  crags  and  passes  bleak, 
His  voice  resounds  in  dismal  shriek, 
And  some  will  cry  when  they  are  airy, 
That  "He's  a  bird — a  true  canary.'* 
The  burro  is  his  Spanish  name, 
And  bearing  it  he  rose  to  fame; 
For  up  and  down  'neath  driver's  wrath, 
He  climbs  with  load  on  narrow  path, 
Where  slipp'ry  trails  and  icy  slate 
Precipitate  him  to  his  fate. 
Plodding  along  at  break  of  day, 
So,  year  by  year  he  makes  his  way, 
I/oaded  heavy  in  mountain  dust, 
In  winter's  snows,  and  clouds  that  burst. 
Keeping  his  pace  in  sun  and  rain, 
He  creeps  along,  a  mountain  train. 
In  hunger,  they  say,  oft  he  can, 
When  all  is  gone,  consume  a  can. 
Bridles,  saddles  and  boxes  too; 
He'll  also  eat  a  soleless  shoe. 
Flour  and  coffee,  bacon  and  ham, 
He  looks  upon,  as  we  do  jam. 
Butter  and  cheese  left  in  the  shade, 
Will  disappear  on  his  parade. 
Trousers  and  shirts,  in  time  of  need, 
Make  him  a  meal  for  sharpest  greed. 
But  of  the  things  beyond  his  skill 
Are  iron  hammer,  miner's  drill. 
Around  the  camp  he  always  goes 
Striking  at  dogs  and  kindred  foes, 
118 


A  DEVOTED   MOTHER   IN   ADVERSI  TY 

Braying  aloud  with  great  delight 
When  hay  abounds  and  gram's  in  sight; 
Sometimes  limping  from  saddle  sore 
Dug  in  his  back  by  sacks  of  ore. 
Taking  ills  like  a  patient  man, 
He  spends  his  time  the  best  he  can, 
Careless  of  wounds  and  battered  feet, 
Stumbling  along  the  stony  street; 
Or,  standing  meek,  with  load  or  pack, 
Bats  the  hay  from  his  partner's  back. 

When  flowers  bloom  and  days  are  fine, 

The  burro  keeps  in  better  line. 

When  roads  are  good,  and  grass  is  long, 

With  stomach  full  he  pegs  along; 

And  o'er  the  hills  and  craggy  walls 

He  carries  nymphs  from  Vassar's  halls. 

'Neath  Harvard's  sports,  or  men  from  Yale, 

The  same  old  wag  is  in  his  tail. 

The  schoolmarms,  too,  both  young  and  old, 

Ride  him  up  through  the  mountains  bold. 

His  faithfulness  should  prompt  us  so 

To  treat  him  well  where  e'er  we  go. 

A  friend  to  all  on  dreary  pass, 

Most  useful  is  the  modest  ass. 


319 


EIGHTH  SKETCH 

SOME  of  San  Juan's  winters  are  very  severe, 
while  others  are  comparatively  mild,  but  on 
account  of  the  dryness  of  the  atmosphere  the 
cold  is  not  felt  so  much  as  it  is  on  the  plains. 
Month  after  month,  from  late  in  the  spring  to  the 
latter  part  of  August,  the  snow  melts  slowly  and 
the  mountain  torrents  pour  down  the  gulches  and 
over  the  plains,  irrigating  the  farms  and  insuring 
bountiful  crops.  Hence,  the  farmer  watches  the 
winter's  storm  with  joy,  while  the  miner,  fearing 
the  snowslide  and  the  precipice,  dreads  its  ap- 
proach. The  winter  of  1890,  setting  in  betimes, 
was  long  and  bitter.  The  rocks  and  mountain 
sides  were  covered  with  deep  snow,  and  the  tall 
pines,  with  their  fleecy  coat  of  white,  looked 
small.  The  roads  were  blocked  and  often  almost 
impassable.  Moses  Livermann,  the  director  of 
the  Silverton  Railroad,  was  pushed  to  the  utmost 
to  keep  the  line  open  until  Christmas.  A  large 
number  of  men  had  been  at  work  from  October, 
and  a  bank  on  either  side  of  the  road  was  so  piled 
up  with  snow  that  no  more  could  be  thrown  over. 
The  Silverton  Railroad,  one  of  the  highest  in  the 
world,  connects  Ironton  with  Silverton.  I  went 
over  to  Silverton  from  Ouray  in  October.  It  was, 
I  think,  on  the  3d,  and  I  rode  part  of  the  way 
to  Ironton  on  a  sleigh.  I  was  not  a  party  of  one, 
but  one  of  a  party  of  travelers,  and  it  took  us 
from  10:30  a.  m.  to  6:30  p.  m.  to  reach  Red 
Mountain,  a  distance  of  about  four  miles.  We 
had  only  two  cars,  one  of  which  was  derailed  at 
least  six  times  that  day,  and  all  hands  assisted  in 
removing  the  snow  and  in  prying  on  the  car. 

120 


THE  BLASPHEMER'S 

When  we  were  about  ready  to  continue  our  jour- 
ney to  Silverton  I  was  stopped  by  a  telephone 
message  calling  me  back  to  Ouray,  which  mes- 
sage stated  that  a  man  was  dying  at  the  hospital. 
I  was  compelled  to  procure  a  horse  at  the  livery 
stable  and  return  as  fast  as  I  could.  It  was  a 
trying  task,  but  I  arrived  at  Ouray  without  a 
mishap.  Some  time  after,  upon  trying  to  visit 
Silverton  under  similar  difficulties,  I  came  near 
losing  my  life.  The  Ouray  toll  road  was  banked 
up  with  masses  of  snow.  While  passing  over 
one  of  the  bad  spots  in  the  road  the  sleigh  tipped 
over,  spilling  out  the  passengers.  I  happened  to 
be  on  the  precipice  side,  and  was  thrown  down 
the  abrupt  declivity  some  forty  feet.  Here  the 
snow  proved  a  friend  to  me,  for  it  saved  me  from 
bruises,  and  perhaps  death.  My  fellow-passen- 
gers pulled  me  up  with  a  long  rope,  and  we  kept 
on  our  way  just  as  if  nothing  unusual  had  taken 
place. 

Around  Silverton,  especially  near  Howards- 
ville,  snowslides  often  play  havoc.  In  a  wild 
wreck  of  rocks,  railroad  ties,  time-worn  boul- 
ders and  broken  trees,  a  slide,  on  one  occasion , 
nearly  carried  away  the  depot  at  Silverton.  It 
is,  therefore,  one  of  the  first  considerations  of  the 
miner  to  mark  well  the  lay  of  the  mountains,  be- 
fore he  builds  his  cabin. 

In  the  summer  of  1890  three  young  fellows 
came  from  the  east,  staked  a  claim,  and  began 
to  run  a  tunnel  into  one  of  the  mountains  of  this 
locality.  It  was  not  long  before  they  learned  to 
appreciate  the  perils  of  the  snowslide.  At  least 
one  of  the  miners  was  a  Catholic;  but,  as  will  be 
seen,  a  reproach  to  his  religion.  He  had  been  a 
student  in  a  college,  had  served  on  the  altar,  and 

121 


IN   THE  SAN  JUAN 

been  tenderly  bred  by  Christian  parents;  but, 
setting  small  store  by  the  advantages  he  possessed 
at  home,  he  went  to  the  far-off  land,  where,  re- 
moved from  wholesome  restraint,  he  forsook  the 
observances  of  his  religion.  No  words  were 
too  obscene,  no  oath  was  too  horrible,  and  no 
blasphemy  too  indecent  for  a  youth  upon  whose 
early  days  the  light  of  fair  promise  shone.  It 
was  his  greatest  pleasure  to  take  the  Holy  Name 
in  vain,  and  companions  of  his,  who  had  no  re- 
ligious training,  shuddered,  when  compelled  to 
listen  to  his  foul  language.  It  had  been  storm- 
ing for  several  days,  and  many  feet  of  snow 
rested  upon  the  mountain  side.  It  needs  but  a 
faint  breeze  then  to  send  the  whole  mass  down 
the  mountain,  and  woe  betide  whatever  is  in  its 
track.  The  three  young  men  had  been  working 
in  the  tunnel  all  day,  and  were  about  to  re- 
turn to  their  cabin,  which  was  about  200 
yards  across  a  gulch.  The  freshly  fallen  snow 
far  up  the  mountain  side  was  glistening  in  the 
last  rays  of  the  winter's  sun.  All  around  was 
pure  and  white,  and  not  a  sound  broke  the  still- 
ness, save  the  voices  of  the  three  young  miners, 
who,  as  they  scanned  the  mountain  and  weighed 
the  chances  of  an  avalanche,  were  discussing  the 
expediency  of  crossing  the  gulch.  Our  nominal 
Catholic,  having  gazed  on  the  scene  for  awhile, 
decided  to  face  the  danger.  His  friends  remon- 
strated with  him,  but  for  their  objections  he  had 
only  reproaches  and  curses,  and  calling  them 
cowards  for  their  prudence,  he  swore  that  he 
would  cross  that  gulch  in  spite  of  Christ  Himself. 
So,  leaving  his  companions  still  undecided  in  the 
mouth  of  the  tunnel,  he  set  forth  by  himself. 
He  had  passed  about  half  way  over  when  one  of 

122 


I 

to 


w 


THE  BLASPHEMER'S  FATE 

his  friends  moved  after  him,  the  third  one,  how- 
ever, standing  in  the  tunnel  and  awaiting  results. 
Scarcely  had  the  second  member  of  the  party  ad- 
vanced fifty  yards,  when  the  mighty  mass  broke 
loose  from  the  mountain  with  a  thunderous  roar 
that  would  awaken  the  dead,  and  rolled  down 
and  on  like  the  churning  waves  of  I^ake  Michi- 
gan when  swept  by  the  fiercest  storm.  Despair 
seized  the  young  men;  there  was  no  hope  for 
them.  How  in  five  feet  of  snow  could  they 
flee  from  that  avalanche,  which  grew  in  speed 
and  volume  as  it  rushed  down  the  mountain  side? 
In  a  trice  it  was  upon  them,  and  dashed  over 
their  lifeless  bodies  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to 
record  their  fate.  It  is  said  that  a  rock  struck 
the  unhallowed  blasphemer,  and  ground  into 
mince  meat  that  tongue  of  his  which  had  so  often 
defied  the  God  who  made  him.  It  was  an  appro- 
priate punishment,  and  a  warning  against  sins  of 
the  tongue.  c '  Blessed  tongue  that  spoke  the 
praises  of  God,"  cried  St.  Bonaventure,  as  he 
kisse4  that  sacred  relic  of  the  good  St.  Anthony 
of  Padua,  but  accursed  is  the  tongue  that  be- 
comes the  organ  of  blasphemy.  This  reminds 
me  of  a  similar  incident  in  this  same  country. 
Two  miners  were  working  in  a  tunnel,  and  hav- 
ing drilled  a  hole,  loaded  it.  From  some  cause 
the  fuse  failed  to  ignite  the  cap  and  the  shot  did 
not  go  off.  One  of  the  miners,  a  man  of  ungov- 
ernable temper,  vented  his  spleen  on  the  broken 
fuse  in  a  torrent  of  oaths,  and  wound  up  his 
abuse  by  cursing  the  Almighty.  He  grasped  the 
hammer  and  drill  and  began  in  a  frantic  manner 
to  unload  the  hole.  His  partner  fled,  lest  the 
charge  might  explode  before  he  had  time  to  get 
away.  It  did  explode  and  tore  the  mad  miner  to 

123 


IN  THB  SAN  JUAN 

pieces,  eviscerating  him  and  strewing  his  intes- 
tines on  the  ground  before  his  face.  It  was  a 
horrible  sight.  His  partner  tried  to  make  the 
dying  miner  as  comfortable  as  possible.  When 
he  came  to  his  senses,  which  was  not  for  some 
time,  the  unfortunate  man  acknowledged  his 
guilt.  His  earnest  petition  was  that  God  might 
forgive  him  for  this  sin  of  blasphemy,  which  was 
so  speedily  punished.  Thus  two  blasphemers 
died,  like  the  thieves  on  the  cross,  one  to  all  ap- 
pearances repentant,  the  other,  God  knows  how, 
but  4'His  words  will  be  justified  and  His  judg- 
ments will  prevail. ' ' 

Ouray  was  dull  that  winter,  for  the  boys  seldom 
descended  the  mountains.  Sneffles  was  hidden 
in  storm-laden  clouds,  and  the  highest  peak  in 
the  district,  on  whose  tapering  heights  snow  is 
seen  the  year  round,  looked  flat  and  dumpish  in 
the  heaps  of  snow  that  remained  upon  it.  To 
come  down  from  the  Virginius  mine  was  to  in- 
vite great  danger,  and  even  at  Christmas  few 
dared  seek  the  season's  festivities  or  the  refresh- 
ment of  Mother  Buchanan's  bath  house.  Here 
is  a  boiling  spring,  which  is  one  of  the  sights  of 
the  town,  and  many  an  afflicted  miner  has  had 
the  rheumatism  dislodged  from  his  bones  in  the 
big  swimming  pool  of  hot  water  which  bubbles 
fresh  from  the  earth  at  Mother  Buchanan's.  The 
water  is  hot  enough  to  boil  eggs,  so  it  always 
needs  tempering  with  the  cold  water  which  is 
provided  in  the  bathing  rooms.  Every  one  calls 
Mrs.  Buchanan  mother  and  Mr.  Buchanan  the 
general,  and  a  finer  old  couple  do  not  live. 
Mother  came  from  sweet  Donegal,  and  brought 
with  her  a  heart  brim  full  of  sympathy  and  good 
humor,  and  well  she  deserved  her  title  of  endear- 

124 


THE  BLASPHEMER'S  FATE 

ment,  for  she  was  a  mother  to  all,  and  few  knew 
her  better  than  the  writer.  As  for  the  general, 
frank  and  openhearted  that  he  was,  there  was 
nothing  in  the  house  too  good  for  his  friends, 
who  were  all  who  had  the  happiness  of  knowing 
him.  He  was  so  civil  and  obliging  that  if  he 
had  no  spring  water  at  hand — and  he  loved 
spring  water — he  would  take  a  bucket  and  make 
a  bee  line  for  the  adjoining  hostlery  of  Pat  Hess, 
who  had  it  on  tap.  So  frequent  were  the  gen- 
eral's accommodating  trips  to  his  neighbors  that 
in  the  summer,  when  the  boys  in  great  force 
invaded  the  bath  house,  fifty  to  sixty  taking 
baths  on  Saturday  afternoons,  a  well-beaten  path 
led  to  the  business  place  of  Mr.  Hess.  This  gen- 
tleman was  a  German,  but  how  he  got  the  name 
Pat,  unless  he  was  born  in  Ireland  on  his  way 
from  Germany,  I  cannot  say.  The  general  was 
one  of  the  old  timers  in  Ouray,  having  come  to 
the  camp  before  there  was  a  wagon  road  to  the 
town.  Camp  life  was  the  general's  delight. 
With  a  good  rifle,  some  flour,  bacon,  coffee  and 
sugar,  frying  pan  and  spring  water  he  was  mas- 
ter of  the  situation. 

That  winter  a  mine  contractor,  who  hauled 
most  of  the  ore  from  the  Virginius  and  returned 
with  supplies,  lost  a  great  many  mules.  They 
perished  in  the  snowslides,  or,  tumbling  over 
the  precipice,  were  killed.  The  Virginius,  which 
was  at  an  elevation  of  about  13,000  feet 
above  sea  level,  was  approached  by  a  narrow, 
difficult  trail.  My  tried  and  true  friend,  Billy 
Maher,  had  a  mining  property,  yes  I  believe 
half  a  dozen  properties,  near  by,  called  for  every- 
thing that  was  patriotic,  from  *  'The  Wearing  of  the 
Creen' '  to  *  'Brian  Boru. ' '  Billy  was  a  hustler.  He 

125 


IN   THK   SAN  JUAN 

had  been  in  the  mountains  six  or  seven  years  be- 
fore I  met  him  and  had  prospected  all  over  the 
Sneffles  district,  where  he  staked  his  claims  and 
worked  assessments  for  Uncle  Sam.  Close  to  the 
apex  of  the  Rockies  he  erected  his  cabin.  There 
were  no  trees  or  grass,  as  it  was  far  above  timber 
line.  It  was  a  desolate  place,  rocks,  rocks,  rocks, 
on  all  sides.  The  only  signs  of  life  were  a  pecu- 
liar species  of  ground  hog,  that  seemed  to  thrive 
on  fresh  air  and  the  shrill  whistling,  which  might 
be  taken  for  a  kind  of  don't-tread-on-the-tail-of- 
my-coat  bravado,  and  an  interesting  little 
creature  known  to  mountaineers  under  the  name 
of  the  stone  marten,  whose  continuous  barking 
serves  as  a  kind  of  second  fiddle  in  concert.  Of 
a  brown  color,  with  a  pug-shaped  head,  close-fit- 
ting ears,  and  a  pocket-gopher  tail,  this  nerv- 
ous little  animal,  which  always  gives  warning  of 
its  approach,  flits  with  the  agility  of  a  chipmunk 
from  rock  to  rock  in  search  of  grass  and  roots. 
The  sportsman  would  deem  it  strange  to  find 
wild  duck  on  the  tops  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
Yet  it  is  a  fact  that  the  hardy  little  teal  dwells  on  the 
lakes  that  nestle  like  jeweled  caskets  above  tim- 
ber line.  Here  they  lay  their  eggs,  hatch  their 
young,  and  feed  on  the  countless  fish  which 
swarm  in  those  remote  reservoirs.  How  the  fish 
ever  got  there,  is  one  of  the  mysteries  hidden  from 
the  modern  historian.  However,  it  may  be  pre- 
sumed that  the  aborigines  made  those  lakes  their 
summer  resorts  and  stocked  them  with  fish  from 
the/valley  streams,  or  the  mountain  torrent,  which 
only  the  trout  can  ascend.  Twenty  years  ago, 
in  many  of  Colorado's  streams,  it  was  no  sport  to 
fish  and  hunt.  Shoals  of  the  finny  tribe  moved 
about  in  their  native  element,  shutting  out  the 

126 


BLASPHEMER'S   FATE 

light  from  the  transparent  waters,  and  devouring 
one  another  in  pursuit  of  food.  To  catch  three 
and  four  at  a  time,  was  an  ordinary  thing.  They 
are  not  so  numerous  now,  but  good  fishing  may 
still  be  had,  and  offers  rare  sport  to  a  person  who 
loves  to  play  and  catch  the  gamiest  of  all  fishes. 
With  the  first  approaches  of  spring,  and  after  the 
snow  has  melted  slowly,  the  teal  may  be  seen 
making  its  way  from  the  lower  altitudes  up  the 
stream.  In  the  early  summer  it  builds  its  nest 
on  the  sedgy  bank  of  some  little  lake  and  there 
rears  its  young.  Should  these  swift  and  experi- 
enced explorers  be  mistaken  in  their  prognosti- 
cations of  the  weather  and  happen  to  be  caught 
in  the  blinding  snow,  they  often  lose  their  bear- 
ings and  fall  ready  victims  to  the  inclemency  of 
the  weather.  Flying  around  in  the  thick  snow 
they  alight  in  the  pines  or  fall  exhausted  in  the 
drifts,  where  they  are  soon  covered  up,  perish  of 
hunger  or  freeze  to  death.  Farther  down  the 
mountain,  among  the  stunted  red  willows  which 
separate  the  naked  rocks  from  the  first  signs  of 
vegetation,  is  the  home  of  the  ptarmigan,  com- 
monly known  as  the  Rocky  Mountain  quail.  It 
is  a  beautiful  bird,  and  twice  the  size  of  the  much- 
praised  bob-white.  In  winter  it  becomes  as  white 
as  snow,  and  at  times  can  scarcely  be  discerned 
in  the  snow.  In  summer  its  color  changes  from 
a  white  to  a  brown,  streaks  of  white  remaining 
on  the  neck  and  wings.  The  feet  are  covered 
down  to  the  toes  with  a  thick,  heavy  coat  of 
.feathers,  which  afford  ample  protection  from  the 
most  severe  weather.  The  ptarmigan,  as  it 
moves  only  a  short  distance  at  a  time,  falls  an 
easy  prey  to  the  hunter. 

In  the  same  region  dwells  the  mountain  grouse, 

127 


IN   THK  SAN  JUAN 

which  is  somewhat  larger  than  the  prairie 
chicken  and  not  unlike  it  in  appearance,  having 
a  long  tail  and  a  rather  dignified  strut.  When 
disturbed,  it  will  fly  up  into  a  tree  and  wait  to  be 
shot.  In  avoiding  the  hunter  it  never  manifests 
the  cunning  of  the  prairie  chicken .  Whole  coveys 
of  these  birds  have  been  shot  in  the  trees,  not  a 
single  one  seeking  to  make  its  escape.  In  the 
winter  it  lives  like  the  ptarmigan,  on  the  buds  of 
the  willows,  or  moves  down  into  the  valleys  where 
food  is  plentiful.  In  the  same  locality  is  found  the 
snow-shoe  rabbit.  This  animal  is  about  the  size 
of  the  ordinary  jack  rabbit,  but  of  a  more  delicate 
constitution.  It  dwells  far  up  in  the  pines  at  the 
edge  of  timber  line.  It  is  probable  that  it  re- 
ceived its  name,  snow  shoe,  from  the  webbed 
formation  of  its  feet.  Its  toes  are  very  short  and 
the  foot  is  broad  and  covered  with  long  matted 
hair,  which,  growing  between  the  toes,  gives  the 
feet  a  bulky  form  that  enables  this  denizen  of  the 
Rockies  swiftly  to  run  over  the  freshly  fallen 
snow  without  sinking. 

Billy's  cabin  was  about  ten  by  fifteen  feet,  and 
was  constructed  of  native  lumber.  A  small  cel- 
lar had  been  quarried  out  of  the  rock  for  potatoes 
and  other  vegetables,  but  Billy  generally  brought 
the  potatoes  to  bed  with  him,  otherwise  they 
might  freeze  in  the  cellar.  For  water  he  used 
snow  in  the  winter,  and  in  summer,  springs  on 
the  mountain  are  almost  as  plentiful  as  wild 
flowers.  Every  miner  can  make  biscuits,  flap- 
jacks and  a  sort  of  white  hoe  cake.  The  miner 
is  a  good  liver;  he  buys  a  whole  steer,  or  beef  by 
the  quarter,  hangs  it  up  high,  where,  frozen  solid, 
it  will  remain  safe  and  fresh  for  eight  months  of  the 
year.  Besides,  putrefaction  at  a  great  altitude  is 

128 


THE;  BLASPHEMER'S  FATE 

very  slow,  so  there  is  no  lack  of  fresh  meat  in  the 
miner's  bill  of  fare,  though  bacon  or  ham  is  most 
used,  as  it  seasons  a  meal.  Billy  married  a  little 
body  from  his  native  country  and  settled  down 
in  life.  Everyone  wished  him  joy,  and  allOuray 
turned  out  to  do  honor  to  his  wedding  day.  His 
marriage  did  not  impair,  but  rather  increased  his 
activity  in  working  his  properties,  and  he  expected 
to  strike  it  rich  soon.  Fall  lengthened  into  the 
harsh  winter  of  which  I  have  been  writing,  and 
Billy  was  unable  to  come  down  as  often  as  before 
to  Ouray.  At  Christmas,  however,  he  risked  the 
dangers  of  the  descent;  surely  it  would  not  be  like 
Christmas  without  Billy  and  his  honest  greeting: 
4 'How  are  you,  anyhow?"  About  the  middle  of 
February  he  paid  the  town  his  last  visit  and  re- 
marked that  he  had  had  an  awful  time  getting 
down  from  the  Virginius  mine.  As  usual,  he 
assisted  at  mass  and  received  the  Blessed  Euchar- 
ist with  all  the  devotion  of  his  pious  soul. 

Upon  his  return  to  the  mine  he  took  with 
him  a  beautiful  English  pointer  of  mine  called 
Prince.  He  loved  the  dog  and  the  dog  loved 
him.  While  Billy  and  his  partner,  who  hailed 
from  sunny  Italy,  worked  all  day  in  the  tunnel, 
Prince  guarded  the  cabin.  Everything  was  mov- 
ing smoothly  with  the  partners,  and  the  prospects 
of  a  splendid  strike  were  good,  when  a  shocking 
calamity  befell  Billy. 

"Ne'er  unmixed  with  grief  has  heaven 
Its  joys  on  mortals  shed." 

It  is  an  unfortunate  custom  of  miners  to  take 
giant  powder  into  their  cabins,  hold  it  by  the 
fire  and  thaw  it  out.  When  frozen  it  will  not 
explode,  but  when  thawed  it  is  one  of  the  most 

129 


IN  THK  SAN  JUAN 

dangerous  and  powerful  explosives.  On  the  25th 
of  February,  Billy,  before  setting  out  for  the 
mine,  was  engaged  thawing  the  powder,  when  all 
of  a  sudden  eight  sticks  of  the  powder  went  off. 
The  result  was  appalling,  the  stove  was  blown 
through  the  roof  and  the  cabin  was  demolished, 
but  the  partners,  where  were  they?  Billy  was 
horribly  mangled,  his  right  hand  was  torn  out  of 
shape.  It  was  in  this  hand  he  held  a  stick  of 
giant  powder  at  the  time  of  the  accident,  yet  not 
a  bone  was  broken,  but  the  fingers  were  laid 
bare,  the  flesh  having  been  blown  off,  and  both 
eyes  were  destroyed.  His  face  appeared  as  if 
painted  with  powder;  all  his  clothing  was  torn 
into  shreds  and  the  discharge  hurled  him  under 
the  bunk.  His  partner,  who  was  washing  the 
dishes  at  the  time,  was  not  much  hurt,  but  he  re- 
ceived a  painful  shock  and  some  slight  injuries. 
After  a  considerable  time  the  Italian  came  to  him- 
self and  shouted  with  all  his  strength  for  Billy. 
There  was  no  answer,  and  he  thought  his  partner 
must  be  dead.  At  last  he  lifted  his  eyelid  with 
his  finger,  thus  keeping  his  eye  open,  and  saw 
Billy  lying  in  a  heap  under  the  bunk.  Slowly 
rising  he  dragged  himself  over  to  where  Billy  lay, 
and  shaking  the  recumbent  figure,  roused  his 
wounded  friend,  who  faintly  whispered,  "Wrap 
me  in  a  blanket  and  bring  help. ' ' 

It  was  only  a  mile  to  the  Terrible  mine,  but 
there  were  so  many  feet  of  snow  on  the  ground 
that  it  was  impossible  to  accomplish  the  short 
distance  without  snow  shoes.  The  Italian  knew 
nothing  about  snow  shoes,  and,  therefore,  was 
unable  to  use  them  on  his  feet.  Picking  them  up 
he  put  his  hands  into  the  straps  designed  for  the 
feet  and  set  out  to  swim  over  the  sea  of  snow, 

130 


THE  BLASPHEMER'S  FATE 

which  in  swelling  waves  followed  the  rise  and  fall 
of  the  land.  The  trail  was  down  hill  most  of  the 
way,  with  here  and  there  obstructions  in  the 
shape  of  rocks  smothered  with  snow.  When  he 
encountered  these  he  was  compelled  to  swim 
around  them.  Using  the  shoes  to  keep  him 
afloat,  and  his  feet  as  propellers,  he  shortened  the 
distance  to  the  Terrible. 

Meanwhile  Prince  was  alone  with  his  master  in 
the  cabin,  of  which  only  the  floor  and  one  end  re- 
mained. When  the  dog  saw  the  Italian  go  away, 
he  returned  to  the  wrecked  cabin,  moaned  pite- 
ously  for  some  time,  smelled  of  his  blood-stained 
friend,  and  then  sent  up  a  howl  that  was  most  pa- 
thetic. He  then  climbed  upon  the  side  of  the  house 
that  lay  far  out  on  the  snow  drift,  and  directed 
his  gaze  to  the  Humbolt  mine.  This  mine  was 
not  so  far  away  as  the  Terrible,  but  was  much 
higher  up,  and  that  is  why  Billy's  partner  did 
not  try  to  reach  it.  Prince  sniffed  the  air  for  a 
moment,  then  gave  a  short  bark  and  plunged  into 
the  deep  snow  toward  the  Humbolt,  between 
which  and  the  Terrible  was  a  trail  fairly  well 
opened  by  the  packers  and  miners,  going  to  and 
returning  from  Ouray.  A  hill  hid  Billy's  cabin 
from  this  trail,  so  no  one  could  learn  of  the  disas- 
ter, and  the  thunder  sound  of  dynamite  is  so 
common  in  the  mountains  that  no  special  notice 
would  be  taken  of  it.  Prince  pressed  on  through 
the  snow,  resting  now  and  then,  and  turning 
back  longing  eyes  to  the  wrecked  abode  of  his 
master.  At  last  he  came  within  sight  of  the  trail. 
A  miner  was  making  his  way  over  the  drifted 
road  when  his  attention  was  called  to  the  barking 
of  the  beautiful  dog.  Indeed,  he  was  beautiful, 
being  of  the  regulation  kind,  black  and  white, 

131 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

with  long  ears  and  large  eyes  which  beamed  with 
intelligence.  The  moment  a  gun  was  taken  down 
he  was  at  hand,  licked  the  gun  and  fawned  on 
the  sportsman  for  permission  to  go  hunting,  and 
sometimes  he  would  lie  in  wait  for  a  hunting 
party  until  he  had  a  chance  to  join  in  the  sport. 
When  he  saw  the  man  on  the  trail  he  set  up  a 
cry  of  distress,  and  sitting  in  the  snow,  moaned, 
then  suddenly  turned  back  a  short  distance.  He 
wanted  to  engage  the  miner's  attention  and  kept- 
running  up  closer,  continuing  to  bark,  then  re- 
treated, but  the  miner  did  not  understand  his 
strange  movements  and  kept  the  uneven  tenor  of 
his  way.  As  a  last  resort,  Prince  came  straight 
in  front  of  him,  barking  savagely  and  snarling  in 
his  mad  endeavor  to  turn  the  man  to  Billy's 
cabin.  The  miner  was  somewhat  afraid  of  what 
he  thought  was  a  vicious  dog,  and  made  several 
kicks  at  him.  Finally  Prince  retreated,  made 
his  way  back  to  the  cabin  and  lay  crouching  be- 
side the  couch  of  his  master,  who  could  not  see 
or  hear  him,  the  detonation  of  the  powder 
having  deafened  him;  and  both  eyes  were  de- 
stroyed. 

The  Italian,  in  the  meantime,  swam  down 
hill  on  the  Norwegian  shoes  until  he  came  to  the 
bottom  of  the  gulch,  when  he  had  to  climb  up 
the  mountain  several  hundred  yards.  On  his 
way  he  could  almost  look  into  the  boarding  house 
of  the  Terrible  mine,  but  no  one  saw  him.  Half 
the  men  were  working,  the  other  half  sleeping, 
and  the  cooks  were  busy  preparing  dinner.  The 
poor  fellow,  wet  to  the  neck  and  ready  to  give  up 
from  exhaustion,  still  plunged  on,  using  the  long 
snow  shoes  as  staves  to  drag  his  half  paralyzed 
body  up  the  steep  incline.  It  was  three  in  the 

132 


THE  BLASPHEMER'S  FATE 

afternoon  when  he  arrived  at  the  Terrible,  hav- 
ing started  from  the  cabin  at  about  7:30. 

When  he  informed  the  miners  of  the  accident  a 
party  of  four  was  speedily  organized  to  convey 
the  mangled  miner  to  Ouray.  The  little  band 
proceeded  at  once  to  the  Virginius,  took  the  trail 
which  leads  to  the  Humbolt,  and  then  the  route 
Prince  had  taken.  All  had  snow  shoes  and  the 
trip  was  made  without  serious  trouble.  Arrived 
at  the  dismantled  cabin,  they  found  Billy  and  the 
dog  side  by  side  in  the  splintered  bunk.  They 
hastily  constructed  a  hand  sled,  and  strapping 
Billy,  Esquimau-like,  on  the  sled,  covered  him 
up.  Two  of  the  party  took  the  lead  and  two  more 
kept  behind,  holding  a  rope  fastened  to  the  sled 
to  keep  it  from  tipping  over.  In  this  manner 
they  started  back  to  the  Terrible.  It  was  now 
growing  dark  and  the  wind  began  to  blow  a  gale. 
Sometimes  the  location  of  the  mine  was  lost,  and 
as  the  advancing  darkness  and  the  howling  storm 
gathered  around  them,  they  trembled  with  fear. 
One  of  the  men  broke  his  snow  shoe,  another  was 
so  worn  out  that  he  wished  to  be  left  behind  until 
help  arrived,  but  the  other  two,  inured  to  moun- 
tain travel,  forced  their  companions  to  go  on. 
Just  before  entering  the  gulch  they  heard  the 
crash  of  a  snowslide  away  to  the  right.  It  can 
easily  be  told  from  the  explosion  of  dynamite,  as 
it  comes  with  a  dull,  heavy  thud,  devoid  of  all 
resonance.  At  last,  ready  to  drop,  they  arrived 
at  the  Terrible.  Four  men  had  been  notified  at 
the  Virginius  to  be  at  hand  to  relieve  the  first 
squad  of  helpers  and  take  Billy  down  to  Porter's. 
The  Virginius  was  only  a  short  distance  from  the 
Terrible.  Four  volunteers  cheerfully  responded 
to  the  call  and  prepared  for  the  journey  to 

133 


IN   THE  SAN  JUAN 

Porter's,  which  was  three  miles  down  the  moun- 
tain. But  they  never  reached  the  Terrible;  they 
were  lost  in  a  snowslide.  As  the  four  men  failed 
to  reach  the  Terrible,  the  same  miners,  fatigued 
though  they  were,  resumed  the  task  of  bearing 
Billy  to  the  hospital  at  Ouray.  It  was  quite  a 
heroic  effort  for  the  four  men  without  relief  to  ac- 
complish the  whole  journey  from  Billy's  cabin  to 
Ouray.  When  they  came  back  the  next  after- 
noon they  met  one  of  the  men  from  the  Virginius 
and  reproached  him  for  not  having  sent  the 
promised  help,  thus  compelling  them  to  carry  the 
wounded  man  the  whole  way.  "We  did  send 
four  men, ' '  he  said,  '  'at  dusk  yesterday  evening. ' ' 
They  all  instinctively  turned  and  looked  down 
the  mountain  side.  There  they  beheld  the  track 
of  an  awful  snowslide  and  knew  the  fate  of  the 
four  miners.  Looking  closely  they  saw  a  hat  on 
the  snow,  and  following  the  track  of  the  slide 
soon  came  to  a  hand,  frozen  stiff,  protruding  from 
the  snow.  They  digged  around  it  carefully  and 
presently  reached  the  head  of  a  man.  The  man 
was  standing  up  as  straight  as  an  arrow  with  his 
hands  thrown  out,  as  if  to  ward  off  a  crushing 
blow,  or  perhaps  to  keep  them  free  from  that 
horrible  snow  packing  which  ensues,  when  the 
crunching  mass  closes  around  an  object.  I  re- 
member the  case  of  the  victim  of  a  snowslide 
who  had  worked  his  way  through  the  mass  of 
snow  with  his  fingers,  and  when  he  issued  from 
the  living  tomb  was  fingerless,  the  fingers  hav- 
ing been  worn  out  in  the  effort  to  free  himself. 
The  first  man  who  was  uncovered  was  a  Mr. 

M ,  a   powerful  fellow.     He  may  have  lived 

five  or  six  hours  standing  up  in  his  snowy  tomb, 
and  no  doubt  shouting  for  help,  for  there  was  a 

134 


THE  BLASPHEMER'S  FATE 

large  cavity  which  had  been  thawed  out  by  his 
warm  breath.  By  degrees  he  was  frozen  to  death, 
but  the  struggle  for  life  must  have  been  supreme. 
Held  as  if  by  a  vise,  he  must  have  fought  a  fierce 
battle  for  life.  The  only  hope  for  a  person  caught  in 
a  snowslide  is  to  remain  on  the  top  of  the  snow, 
which  advances  like  the  waves  of  the  ocean  in  its 
ebb  and  flow.  If  you  are  thrown  down  at  the 
outset  your  chances  of  life  are  next  to  nothing. 

Mr.  M seems  to  have  ridden  the  snow  for  some 

time,  but  the  grinding  mass  submerged  him.  The 
next  body  found  was  that  of  a  poor  miner  from 
Delta,  Colorado,  who  had  gone  to  the  big  mine  to 
make  a  few  dollars  to  buy  seed  for  his  ranch  and 
help  support  a  wife  and  six  children.  His  neck 
was  broken,  so  he  scarcely  knew  what  happened. 
The  other  two  members  of  the  ill-fated  party 
must  have  been  killed  outright. 

Poor  Billy  Maher  was  brought  to  the  sisters' 
hospital  that  night  about  eleven  o'clock.  The 
physician  examined  him  and  found  that  he  was 
blind  and  internally  injured.  The  explosion  al- 
most destroyed  his  hearing,  and  to  make  myself 
heard  by  him  I  had  to  speak  at  the  top  of  my 
voice.  I  could  gather  from  his  faint  whispers  that 
he  did  not  think  he  was  very  much  injured,  but 
he  said  that  if  he  was  blind  he  would  rather 
die  than  live.  We  entertained  hopes  of  his  re- 
covery for  a  day  or  two,  but  they  were  in  vain. 
Billy  was  slowly  dying,  so  I  gave  him  the  last 
sacraments' of  the  church  and  prepared  him  for 
death.  He  repeated  some  of  the  prayers  and 
continued  to  make  ejaculations  expressive  of  his 
love  of  God,  until  he  could  do  so  no  longer. 
Gradually,  he  sank  into  a  state  of  insensibility. 
As  the  gray  dawn  of  morning  stole  over  the  east- 

135 


IN    THE    SAN   JUAN 

ern  mountains  Billy's  heart  went  silent  to  the  touch 
of  death,  the  weary  march  of  life  was  done,  and  on 
the  powder -begrimed  face  a  deathly  pallor  set- 
tled. Billy  was  no  more,  and  the  little  cabin  be- 
yond the  ocean  in  distant  Tippera^  would  never 
again  be  visited  by  one,  whose  fondest  hope  was 
that  he  might  sit  once  more  beneath  the  thatched 
roof  of  his  childhood's  home. 

At  Billy's  funeral  nearly  everyone  in  town 
was  present.  My  heart  was  too  full  for  utter- 
ance; I  could  make  no  formal  address,  and  only 
said  that  his  life  was  more  eloquent  than  any 
sermon  I  could  preach.  It  is  the  simple  truth  to 
say  that  the  dead  man's  part  in  life  was  well 
played.  "He  had  a  tear  for  pity  and  a  hand 
open  as  day  for  works  of  mercy. "  He  loved  to 
serve  mass  and  to  minister  to  the  wants  of  the 
priest,  and  in  his  goings  in  and  goings  out  he 
was  so  well  approved  that  greater  honor  could 
not  be  shown  to  a  public  official.  His 
best  desire  was  satisfied  when  he  died  fortified 
by  the  rights  of  the  church,  which  he  loved  bet- 
ter than  his  own  life.  The  memory  of  this  noble 
soul  deserves  this  tribute,  and  will  long  be  cher- 
ished by  his  friends.  "Only  the  actions  of  the 
just  smell  sweet  and  blossom  in  the  dust,"  and 
merit  record  to  enlighten  others. 

A  MINER'S  DEATH 

'Tis  dreary  to-night  on  the  mountain, 

The  starlight  is  hid  in  the  sky, 
The  thick  snow  is  falling  and  drifting, 

From  each  rugged  peak's  point  on  high. 

Away  on  Mount  Sneffles  bare  summits, 
Where  nature  so  awesome  appears, 

Where  the  gloom-shaded  face  of  the  morn 
Distracts  the  beholder  with  fears, 
136 


THE   BLASPHEMER'S   FATE 

A  miner  is  dying  and  praying, 

That  God  in  his  mercy  may  send 
The  Soggarth  Aroon  to  his  cabin, 

A  sinner  in  need  to  befriend. 

Meanwhile  in  the  black  winter's  storm, 
His  partner  makes  haste  the  long  day, 

To  announce  a  miner  is  dying 

On  the  mountain,  from  help  far  away. 

No  mother,  no  wife  to  watch  o'er  him, 

And  calm  the  worn  spirit's  unrest, 
Or  lift  up  the  soul  that's  aweary, 

By  whisp'ring  to  him  of  the  blest. 

*  #•  #  *  #  * 

The  unction  has  now  touched  the  Christian, 
His  lips  are  still  moist  from  the  oil, 

Scarce  has  absolution  been  giv'n, 
When  nature  succumbs  to  the  toil. 

The  crucifix  clasped  to  his  bosom, 

A  tear  on  his  cheek  lately  shed, 
A  word  for  his  mother  and  family, 

The  soul  of  the  miner  has  fled. 

Beside  him  we  watched  from  the  midnight, 
Till  heaven  unlocked  the  new  day, 

We  laid  him  to  rest  on  the  hillside, 
From  home  and  dear  friends  far  away. 

The  long  train  of  sleighs  and  carriages  moved 
slowly  down  the  street  and  then  wound  through 
the  gulch  to  Portland  until  it  came  to  the  ceme- 
tery, where,  with  the  final  prayers  of  the  church, 
we  consigned  the  remains  of  Billy  Maher  to  their 
last  resting  place — 

"The  tender  tear  which  Nature  sheds 
O'er  those  we  love  we  drop  into  his  grave." 


137 


NINTH  SKETCH 

story  of  the  prodigal  son  is  repeated 
every  day,  and  will  continue  to  be  repeated, 
until  sin  is  no  more.  Every  family  has  its 
black  sheep.  No  one  knows  this  better  than  the 
priest,  whose  ear  is  ever  open  to  the  story  of 
man's  folly.  In  his  missionary  calls,  which  sum- 
mon him  day  and  night  to  perform  the  task  of 
reconciliation  between  God  and  man,  the  dying 
prodigal,  returning  to  his  father's  house  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  is  a  familiar  figure.  The  cloak 
of  charity  is  sometimes  thrown  over  worthless 
lives,  so  that  friends  may  not  be  offended,  or 
pious  ears  scandalized.  When  a  disedifying  life 
escapes  due  criticism,  religion  is  mocked  at,  and 
becomes  a  by-word  of  reproach.  Charity  to  the 
dead  may  be  injustice  to  the  living,  and  the 
young  are  likely  to  be  deceived  by  the  glamor  of 
the  public  funeral.  The  pagan  crystallized  a 
gracious  sentiment,  when  he  observed,  that  noth- 
ing but  what  is  good  should  be  spoken  of  the 
dead;  but  the  true  principle  is  found  in  the  wise 
injunction:  "L,et  justice  be  done,  though  the 
heavens  should  fall."  If  men  practised  justice 
more  generally  in  their  dealings  with  their  fellow- 
men,  it  would  not  be  necessary  to  bolster  up 
character  by  the  display  of  a  charity,  which,  un- 
enlivened by  supernatural  motives,  degenerates 
into  sensuality. 

While  I  was  on  the  missions  of  the  San  Juan, 
I  met  many  who  belonged  to  the  category  of 
prodigals,  who  are  usually  spendthrifts,  but  some- 
times misers,  '  'in  whom  there  is  nothing  heaven- 
ly."  I  wish  to  mention  one  or  two  instances  of  the 

138 


BANEFUIy    EFFECTS   OF   INTEMPERANCE 

spendthrift  class.     John  W had  fought  from 

Bull  Run  to  Antietam,  and  was  wounded  three 
times;  but  the  final  stroke  was  reserved  for  him 
at  Ouray,  when  encamped  on  the  field  with  the 
enemy  that  gives  no  quarter.  He  owned  by  gift 
or  sale  some  mining  property  in  the  Ouray  Gold 
Belt,  and  had  come  west  to  see  it.  He  had  a 
considerable  sum  of  money,  as  he  drew  a  pretty 
liberal  pension  from  the  inexhaustible  coffers  of 
generous  Uncle  Sam.  He  bore  on  his  body  as 
mementoes  of  the  war  and  a  consideration  for  his 
pension,  three  bullet  wounds,  one  of  which  was 
very  painful,  breaking  out  with  assured  regular- 
ity. This  wound  he  received  on  the  gory  field 
of  Antietam,  where,  for  two  days,  he  lay  with 
his  head  on  the  breast  of  a  dead  comrade.  He 
came  to  Ouray  at  a  moment  when  there  was 
much  excitement  over  the  American-Nettie  dis- 
covery. It  was  a  time  when  every  day  saw  new- 
comers, by  tens  and  twenties,  drop  into  town  to 
locate  and  buy  claims.  So  eager  in  the  pursuit 
of  new  finds  were  these  mine  seekers,  that  not  a 
few  of  them  lay  at  night  in  the  snow  to  secure 
first  choice  in  the  diggings.  The  people  of  Ouray 
congratulated  themselves  upon  the  fact  that  their 
city  was  not  subject  to  booms,  but  kept  a  steady, 
healthy  growth. 

More  or  less  gold  had  been  discovered  in  the 
mountains  adjacent  to  the  city,  and  a  little  even 
in  the  streets  of  the  town.  When  the  boys  came 
down  from  the  mines  for  rest  and  recuperation, 
they  often  took  hammers  and  drills,  and  strolled 
up  into  the  Blow  Out  or  Gold  Belt.  They  lo- 
cated some  very  good  prospects,  which  showed  a 
fair  quantity  of  the  yellow  metal.  It  remained, 
however,  for  a  couple  of  good-natured  fellows  to 

139 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

make  one  of  the  best  strikes  in  the  Blow  Out. 
When  money  was  plentiful  they  spent  it  freely, 
and,  when  short  of  funds,  borrowed  from  their 
friends.  They  referred  with  pride  to  their  future 
prospects,  especially  in  the  Gold  Belt,  which  they 
claimed,  would  some  day  create  a  great  sensa- 
tion. So  they  pounded  away  at  the  tunnel  in 
the  Blow  Out,  avoiding  the  dangers  of  the  higher 
altitudes  and  enjoying  the  privilege  of  being 
their  own  masters. 

One  day  they  came  down  to  Ouray  with  a  sack 
of  the  volcanic  stuff,  which  fairly  set  the  towTn 
wild.  It  assayed  far  up  into  the  thousands,  and 
everyone  in  town  rushed  up  to  the  Belt  to  stake  a 
claim.  The  news  spread  to  the  east,  and  min- 
ing experts  poured  into  the  town  to  examine  the 
new  find.  Large  sums  were  offered  for  a  loca- 
tion, and  soon  the  eastern  side  of  the  canon  was 
dotted  with  tents.  Our  lucky  young  men  sold 
out  for  over  $40,000  in  cash,  and  were  looked 
upon  as  the  heroes  of  the  hour.  One  of  them 
having  some  strange  ideas  of  his  own,  the  first 
resolution  he  took  was  to  go  down  into  New 
Mexico  and  undertake  to  break  all  the  faro 
banks.  Full  of  this  strange  resolution  he  set  out 
and  remained  away  three  months,  returning  with 
the  loss  of  several  thousand  dollars.  Not  learn- 
ing anything  from  his  failure  in  New  Mexico, 
he  continued  in  his  stubborn  resolve  to c  'wind  up, ' ' 
as  he  said,  the  faro  banks  of  Ouray,  but  lost  all 
his  money.  This  made  a  man  of  him.  With 
the  loss  of  the  money,  his  senses  returned,  and 
he  now  does  his  day's  work  as  of  old,  with  a 
cheerful  and  contented  mind. 

I  knew  another  young  man,  who  was  a  hard 
drinker,  but  otherwise  a  good  sort  of  a  fellow. 

140 


BANEFUL    EFFECTS   OF    INTEMPERANCE 

He  came  from  Pennsylvania  at  the  time  of  the 
excitement  to  which  I  have  referred,  spent  all  his 
money,  and  then  came  to  me  and  took  the  pledge 
for  a  year.  '  'Well,  Father, ' '  said  he,  '  'if  I  ever 
make  a  strike,  I'll  settle  down."  He  staked  a 
claim,  worked  hard  for  three  months,  got  the 
prospect  in  good  shape,  and  sold  out  for  $4,000, 
before  the  boom  died  out.  On  the  3d  of  July  he 
came  down  to  town,  and  fell  into  the  claws  of  the 
tiger,  losing  his  fortune.  I  have  remarked  that 
the  spendthrift  is  generally  the  type  of  the 
prodigal,  but,  using  the  term  prodigal  in  a 
higher,  though  rarely  accepted,  sense  of  the 
word,  I  would  apply  it,  on  the  doctrine  that  ex- 
tremes touch,  to  that  class  of  men  who  prefer 
money  to  God  Almighty.  Among  the  miners 
this  sort  of  a  being  is  rare,  and  obtains  access  to 
their  company  by  effrontery  alone.  He  is  held  in 
contempt  by  them,  for  he  would  rob  Lazarus  of 
the  few  crumbs  that  fall  to  his  hard  lot.  His 
love  of  the  mammon  of  iniquity  shuts  the  door  of 
his  heart  to  all  the  sunshine  of  this  life.  With 
enough  money,  he  is  always  poor.  Adoring  his 
sordid  god,  he  holds  in  disgust  and  abhorrence  all 
the  works  of  mercy.  Hugging  his  plethoric 
pocketbook,  he  ignores  all  appeals  of  charity, 
which  is  a  strange,  empty  term  in  his  ear.  Such 
a  creature  I  once  met  in  the  San  Juan.  A  strong, 
healthy  fellow,  and  of  a  parsimonious  habit,  he 
seldom  came  down  from  the  mines,  but  remained 
there  year  after  year,  until  he  had  eight  or  ten 
thousand  dollars  to  his  credit  in  one  of  the  banks. 
And  when  he  did  come  to  town  he  showed  no 
signs  of  sociability.  So  completely  was  he 
wrapped  up  in  himself,  that  he  shunned  his  fel- 
low-miners. When  he  had  deposited  his  money, 

141 


IN   TH3  SAN  JUAN 

he  returned  without  delay  to  the  mountains, 
walking  the  whole  distance,  while  others  hired 
horses  to  make  the  difficult  journey.  To  urgent 
requests  from  his  old  parents  for  help,  he  lent  a 
deaf  ear.  Letters  came  to  me,  containing  in- 
quiries about  his  health  and  circumstances,  and 
when  I  spoke  to  him  of  the  duty  he  owed  the 
authors  of  his  being,  it  was  like  pulling  a  tooth  out 
of  his  head  to  extract  a  dollar  from  him.  For 
awhile,  he  grudgingly  sent  them  a  paltry  sum, 
and  at  length  abandoned  his  indigent  relatives  to 
the  cold  charity  of  a  British  workhouse.  But 
the  wrath  of  the  Almighty  overtook  him  sud- 
denly; for  one  day  he  was  killed  in  an  accident 
without  warning,  and  forced  to  leave  the  dollars 
which  he  had  so  faithfully  hoarded.  They  fell  to 
the  lot  of  a  near  relative,  who,  consecrating  them 
to  gross  vice,  never  stopped  until  he  had  squan- 
dered the  last  cent  of  the  miser's  treasure.  Such 
was  the  fate  of  one  who  may  have  thought  to 
himself  that  he  had  a  balance  at  the  banker's 
enough  to  insure  him  against  Providence  itself. 
*  'Accursed  hunger  for  gold!  to  what  dost  thou  not 
force  poor  mortals!" 

The  saloons  did  a  rushing  business  and  the 
faro- dealers  worked  two  shifts  of  eight  hours 
a  day.  John,  like  all  the  old  soldiers,  had 
a  knack  of  making  friends  and  acquaintances 
and  was  not  behind  the  others  in  spending 
his  money.  He  made  his  debut  in  town  by 
actually  taking  the  large  roll  of  bills,  which 
he  carried  with  him,  and  passing  it  over  to  the 
proprietor  of  the  saloon.  He  then  waded  into 
the  sea  of  dissipation,  careless  of  the  depths  be- 
fore him.  The  free  lunch,  of  course,  was  in  the 
bill  of  attractions,  and  kept  him  from  sensible 

142 


BANEFUI,    EFFECTS   OF    INTEMPERANCE 

employment.  Going  at  a  killing  pace  in  vanity 
fair,  he  let  but  little  time  pass  without  its  peculiar 
variety  of  distraction,  and  was  busily  engaged  in 
the  downward  road  to  ruin,  whenever  he  was 
capable  of  standing  up  at  the  bar,  and  shaking 
the  dice.  It  was  only  when,  stupefied  by  the 
draughts  of  poison  he  fell  on  the  sawdust  floor, 
that  he  paused  in  his  mad  career.  So  dead  to 
shame  was  the  poor  fellow  that  he  often  lay  in  a 
heap  on  the  ground. 

At  the  further  end  of  the  saloon  was  a  vacant 
room,  in  which  odds  and  ends  were  jumbled  to- 
gether. To  this  retiring-room  the  degraded 
creatures,  who  had  a  dollar  in  their  pockets,  or 
were  otherwise  good  for  a  drink,  were  removed 
for  future  investments.  Here  stood  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  room,  a  ragged  billiard  table,  upon 
which  John  was  tossed  to  sleep  off  his  drunken- 
ness. During  a  spree,  which  might  last  ten 
days,  the  poor  fellow  kept  moving  from  the  bil- 
liard table  to  the  bar,  constantly  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  deadly  drug. 

One  morning  he  failed  to  put  in  an  appearance. 
Late  in  the  day  the  owner  of  the  saloon  went  into 
the  room  and  found  the  unfortunate  man  in  a 
semi-conscious  state,  breathing  stertorously  and 
apparently  dying.  A  physician  was  summoned. 
Upon  seeing  the  man,  the  doctor  ordered  him  to 
the  hospital,  where,  after  some  restoratives  and 
much  hard  work,  he  was  brought  to  his  senses. 
When  he  realized  his  sad  condition,  his  money 
lost,  and  his  constitution  wrecked,  the  coming 
prey  of  death,  his  soul  was  so  overwhelmed  with 
terror  and  despair  that  pen  can  hardly  depict  his 
agony.  He  drew  from  his  bosom  the  pictures  of 
his  little  grandchildren,  and  kissing  the  faces  of 

143 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

the  absent  ones,  wept  as  if  his  heart  would  break. 
It  was  all  he  had  left,  and  the  bitterness  of  that 
hour  seemed  to  be  intensified  rather  than  as- 
suaged, by  the  sight  of  the  sweet,  innocent  faces. 
The  physician  said  he  could  not  live;  his  system 
was  poisoned,  and  his  flesh  discolored.  He  had 
a  gigantic  frame  and  must  have  been  a  man  of 
prodigious  strength.  It  was  not  easy  to  convince 
him  that  he  was  about  to  die;  but  when  he 
realized  the  truth,  and  with  the  deepest  contrition 
had  received  the  last  sacraments,  he  became  re- 
signed and  faced  death  as  in  many  a  hard- fought 
battle  he  had  faced  it  in  the  sixties.  The  saloon 
keeper  was  kind  enough  to  bear  all  expenses. 
A  similar  deplorable  case  which  came  under 
my  notice  illustrates  the  ruin  which  the  habit  of 
drink  produces  in  men  of  the  best  natural  parts. 
The  man  of  whom  I  speak  was  past  middle  life, 
but  still  strong  and  healthy.  He  was  born  in 
Ireland,  of  wealthy  parents,  who  gave  him  a 
first-class  education .  A  trained  scholar,  he  could 
dash  off  a  Fourth  of  July  oration  with  as  many 
dazzling  tropes  and  figures  as  a  master  of  rhetoric. 
Extensive  book  knowledge  was  ripened  by  long 
intercourse  with  the  world  of  business.  A 
brother  of  his  adopted  for  a  career  the  legal 
profession,  and  is  now  a  prominent  lawyer  in  his 
own  state.  The  subject  of  my  remarks  literally 
drank  the  share  of  the  inheritance  that  came  to 
him.  When  all  was  gone,  and  with  his  loss 
came  the  remorse  which  outlives  the  worst  form 
of  dissipation,  he  moved  west  and  after  some 
years  found  himself  in  the  great  carbonate  camp 
of  L,eadville.  He  was  not  long  there,  until  he 
formed  a  syndicate  for  the  purpose  of  working  a 
mining  property,  and  upon  the  sale  of  the  mine, 

144 


BANEFUL    EFFECTS   OF    INTEMPERANCE 

liis  share  netted  him  $12,000.  He  resolved  to  go 
back  to  Ireland  and  lead  a  reputable  life  among 
liis  friends,  but  while  preparing  to  put  his  resolu- 
tion into  practice,  his  passion  for  drink  got  the 
better  of  him,  and  he  never  got  farther  than 
Salida,  Colorado,  where,  for  nine  months,  he 
drank  steadily,  and  when  he  sobered  up,  his 
money  was  gone.  Disgusted  with  himself,  he 
fled  from  the  town,  went  over  into  Gunni- 
son  County  and  tried  to  begin  life  anew.  He  lo- 
cated some  claims,  and  with  a  companion,  com- 
menced sinking  a  shaft.  For  six  months  they 
worked  hard  and  during  this  time,  true  to  his 
spirit  of  enterprise,  tried  to  organize  another 
company.  He  was  on  the  point  of  accomplish- 
ing this  purpose,  when  one  day  an  unexpected 
explosion  occurred  in  the  shaft;  his  legs  were 
both  broken,  one  eye  was  blown  out,  and  the  other 
was  left  with  little  sight.  His  face  was  horribly 
disfigured  and  filled  with  burned  powder.  With 
a  broken  nose  added  to  other  disfigurements,  he 
was  one  of  the  homeliest  looking  men  at  the 
mines.  He  was  obliged  to  spend  nine  months  in 
the  hospital  under  the  care  of  the  sisters.  During 
this  involuntary  retirement  he  assumed  the  show 
of  the  human  form;  as  a  result  of  much  medita- 
tion on  the  four  last  things,  some  pious  reading 
and  the  enforced  avoidance  of  the  proximate  oc- 
casion of  his  besetting  sin,  he  determined  to  shun 
drink. 

Leaving  the  hospital,  he  repaired  to  Pueblo, 
where  he  secured  a  position  as  foreman  on  a  Rio 
Grande  construction  train.  For  a  year  and  a- 
half,  he  did  not  touch  intoxicating  liquors.  One 
day  he  had  some  words  with  the  superintendent, 
quit  work  and  began  to  drink  once  more.  Before 

145 


IN   THK  SAN  JUAN 

he  ended  this  spree  in  the  gutter,  the  savings  of 
a  year  and  a-half  were  squandered,  and  the  weak 
creature  fleeing  from  his  friends,  was  forced  to 
beat  his  way  to  the  San  Juan  country.  Broken 
in  spirit  and  body,  he  catne  to  me  and  begged 
something  to  eat.  I  gradually  drew  him  out  and 
learned  his  history.  I  procured  him  some  light 
work  in  Ouray  and  when  he  regained  his  strength 
sufficiently,  a  position  in  a  mine,  where,  for 
nine  months,  without  losing  a  day,  he  worked 
faithfully.  But,  as  the  absence  of  the  vice  does 
not  prove  the  presence  of  the  virtue,  he  was  not 
reformed,  the  demon  of  drink  held  him  in  his 
strong,  fast  hold,  and  the  first  day  he  came  down 
from  the  mine  he  inaugurated  a  new  spree, 
which  closed  with  the  delirium  tremens.  He 
was,  indeed,  a  sad  and  pitiable  sight.  We  all 
encouraged  him  to  cheer  up  and  try  again.  He 
did  so,  and  worked  about  four  months,  when,  on 
the  i yth  of  March,  he  came  to  town  and  this 
time  fell  lower  than  ever.  I  was  not  aware  that 
he  was  in  Ouray,  for  when  drinking  he  never 
came  near  me.  About  the  middle  of  May  I  went 
to  Denver  on  business.  During  my  absence,  the 
ambulance  one  morning  drove  up  to  the  sisters' 
hospital,  a  man  was  carried  in  on  a  stretcher,  and 
the  sister  in  charge  recognized  a  former  patient. 
He  had  been  on  a  prolonged  debauch  and  finally 
lay  down  by  the  river  to  die  alone,  not  wishing 
after  his  scandalous  behavior  to  approach  priest 
or  sisters.  He  was  tenderly  placed  on  a  bed, 
which  was  a  rare  delicacy  for  him.  The  heavy 
breathing  and  flushed  countenance  told  the  ex- 
perienced sister  that  he  was  about  to  die,  so  she 
informed  him  that  he  must  have  a  priest  at  once. 
The  nearest  priest  was  at  Montrose  and,  accord- 

146 


BANEFUL    EFFECTS   OF    INTEMPERANCE 

ingly,  he  was  wired  to  come  up  on  the  evening 
train.  The  poor  man  prayed  all  day  for  forgive- 
ness of  his  sins,  deplored  sincerely  his  unhappy 
life  and  strove  to  make  amends  for  the  past  in 
the  few  hours  still  left  him.  As  the  shades  of 
evening  and  death  drew  on,  he  sank  rapidly.  He 
called  for  the  priest  again  and  again.  His  gentle 
nurse  soothed  him  and  calmed  his  fears,  telling 
him  that  the  train  would  soon  arrive  with  the 
priest.  At  last,  the  long,  loud  whistle  of  the 
locomotive,  steaming  into  the  depot,  reached  his 
ear,  and  raising  his  faint  voice,  he  cried  out, 
" Thank  God,  thank  God  the  priest  has  now 
come, ' '  and  with  a  cry  for  mercy  on  his  lips  he 
died,  manifesting  every  sign  of  true  repentance. 
Next  day  I  came  home  and  we  buried  the  victim 
of  the  accursed  drink  habit  at  the  foot  of  those 
rock-ribbed  mountains,  from  whose  side  trickles 
down  the  undiluted  waters,  Which  are  the  bev- 
erage of  the  wise.  What  a  mockery  of  the  end 
of  the  drunkard  is  the  musical  chant  of  the 
gurgling  stream  as  it  keeps  its  way  from  the 
mountain  passes  to  the  ocean,  and  what  a  com- 
mentary upon  the  evils  of  intemperance  is  such  a 
wasted  career !  Man  was  created  with  noble 
faculties,  an  intellect  to  pursue  truth  and  a  will 
to  love  good.  But  what  does  the  intemperate 
man  care  for  truth?  See  him,  leaning  against  a 
lamp  post,  sway  ing  to  and  fro  or  wallowing  in  the 
mire  !  Ask  him  what  he  is  doing,  or  who  he  is. 
The  answer  is  a  stammering  demand  for  a  drink. 
If  he  meets  a  refusal,  he  does  his  best  to  mumble 
a  curse  or  an  oath.  L,oving  his  shameful  ap- 
petites, the  time  he  spares  from  the  bottle  he 
devotes  to  the  neglect  of  the  duties  of  his  state  of 
life.  Instead  of  providing  a  home  for  his  family, 

147 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

he  gives  his  earnings  to  the  grog  shop,  and. 
suffers  his  children  to  run  wild.  Disorder  pre- 
vails at  his  pretense  of  a  home,  where  squabbles 
and  blows  sometimes  end  in  murder.  How  does 
the  intemperate  man  fulfil  his  obligations  to  so- 
ciety ?  He  owes  the  grocer,  butcher,  milkman, 
in  a  word  every  one  he  deals  with,  and  when  he 
dies,  he  leaves  the  state  an  impoverished,  vicious 
offspring.  The  children  of  the  drunkard's  home 
swell  the  ranks  of  vice,  crowd  the  reformatories 
and  fill  the  lunatic  asylums.  Ah,  "what  a  piece 
of  work  a  man  is  !  How  noble  in  reason,  how 
infinite  in  faculty,  in  form  and  moving,  how 
express  and  admirable;  in  apprehension  how  like 
a  god,  the  beauty  of  the  world,  the  paragon  of 
animals  !"  This  is  the  temperate  man  who,  with 
his  intelligence  developing  in  the  right  line, 
marches  swiftly  to  his  end  and  glorifies  his 
Maker.  Alas,  what  a  contrast  is  the  intemperate 
man,  who  staggers  through  life  to  an  inglorious 
end.  Possessed  by  the  demon  of  drink,  "he  will 
not  serve;"  he  scorns  advice  and  resents  well- 
meant  friendship;  he  ridicules  the  simple  lives  of 
his  fathers,  who  in  simplicity,  became  saints. 
How  to  satisfy  his  animal  nature,  is  the  absorb- 
ing aim  of  his  besotted  existence.  If  only  the 
world  were  an  open  bottle,  his  happiness  would 
be  complete.  It  is  by  faith,  hope  and  charity 
that  we  apprehend  God,  as  it  is  by  the  senses  we 
are  put  into  relations  with  the  material  world. 
But  the  intemperate  man  believes  in  whiskey, 
puts  his  trust  in  whiskey,  loves  whiskey  and 
everything  that  ministers  to  a  sensual  life.  The 
cardinal  virtues  are  the  hinges  upon  which  life 
revolves.  Suppose  the  life  of  the  drunkard  is 
tested  by  this  standard,  the  conclusion  must  be 

148 


BANEFUI,    EFFECTS   OF    INTEMPERANCE 

that  it  were  better  for  him  never  to  have  been 
born.  He  goes  to  destruction  with  his  eyes  open, 
his  motto  is:  "L,et  the  last  man  pay  the  last 
man."  For  the  virtues,  which  should  adorn 
man,  he  possesses  all  the  vices  enumerated  by 
the  apostle  as  the  works  of  the  flesh;  he  is  proud, 
and  has  nothing  but  his  shame  of  which  to  be 
proud;  thirsting  for  the  most  brutalizing  pleas- 
ures, he  envies  his  fallen  brother,  with  whom  he 
regrets  he  cannot  change  places.  The  drunkard 
is  outside  the  pale  of  redemption,  "  'Drunkards 
shall  not  inherit  the  kingdom  of  God."  Statistics 
throw  a  lurid  light  upon  the  appalling  evils  of 
intemperance.  An  analysis  of  the  causes  that  led 
in  1890,  to  the  arrest  of  7,386  persons,  discloses 
the  fact  that  in  5,096  cases,  or  three-fourths  of 
the  whole  number,  drink  was  the  responsible 
cause.  The  total  output  of  44,031  breweries  in 
1894  was  5,475,000  gallons,  a  number  which 
imagination  cannot  realize.  In  that  year  the 
consumption  of  liquor  in  the  United  States  alone 
was  1,150,000  gallons.  Truly  it  is  a  dismal 
picture,  and  the  reader  may  ask  if  there  is  any 
hope  for  the  drunkard.  I  answer  yes,  but  the  way 
to  temperance  for  the  habitual  drunkard  is  steep 
and  rocky.  Thank  God  there  is  a  sufficient  number 
of  recoveries  from  the  serfdom  of  drink  to  prove 
that  a  good  will  with  the  proper  physical  and 
moral  remedies  will  effect  a  permanent  cure.  I 
am  not  an  advocate  of  total  abstinence,  and  I 
believe  that  there  are  cases  in  which  it  may  not 
be  necessary  to  recommend  this  practice;  but 
some  persons  are  in  conscience  bound  neither  to 
take,  touch,  or  taste  the  forbidden  cup. 

I  met  on  my  missions  another  man  who  had 
been  a  heavy   and   constant    drinker  for  thirty 

149 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

years.  He  was  an  old  soldier  and  possessed  a 
fair  degree  of  intelligence.  From  a  large  ex- 
perience, acquired  in  a  military  career  of  five 
years,  he  understood  men  and  things  pretty  well. 
Before  enlisting,  he  married,  like  many  who  are 
now  going  to  fight  the  Spaniards.  While  await- 
ing the  summons  to  active  service,  he  fell  into 
the  habit  of  drinking  to  the  point  of  intoxication. 
When  discharged  from  the  service,  instead  of 
forsaking  his  evil  way,  he  went  from  bad  to 
worse.  Of  course,  when  a  man  drinks  to  excess, 
he  neglects  his  business,  and  as  he  does  not  mind 
his  shop,  his  shop  does  not  mind  him.  When 
poverty  comes  in  at  the  door,  love  flies  out  at 
the  window.  So  this  young  man, spurned  by  his 
relations,  and  threatened  by  his  wife,  left  the 
latter  and  two  children,  and  fled  to  the  west. 
His  intentions  were  good,  he  meant  to  reform, 
and  then  send  for  them.  Perhaps  he  thought 
it  was  a  change  of  climate  and  not  a  change  of 
mind  he  needed.  "But  a  man's  mind  to  him  a 
kingdom  is, ' '  and  no  man  is  at  home  unless  he 
is  at  home  with  himself.  His  resolutions  were 
weak,  and  in  a  strange  country  he  sank  lower 
and  lower.  After  a  night's  debauch,  he  swore 
that  that  was  his  last,  but  before  night  he  would 
find  himself  again  in  the  mire.  Thirty  years  of 
such  an  existence,  away  from  home  and  children, 
is  an  awful  account  in  the  history  of  a  husband 
and  father.  This  was  the  man,  gray  from  age 
and  dissipation,  that  I  encountered.  It  was  my 
special  blessing  to  have  been  the  means  under 
heaven  of  reforming  him  and  restoring  him  to 
his  family,  to  a  struggling  wife  and  children,  and 
even  grandchildren,  who  had  learned  to  lisp  the 
name  of  the  unfortunate  grandpa,  who  was  going 

150 


BANEFUL    EFFECTS   OF    INTEMPERANCE 

to  ruin  in  the  west.  It  was  on  one  of  my  sick 
calls  that  I  found  him  like  a  maniac  laid  on  a  bed, 
strong  straps  binding  his  wrists  and  his  ankles 
pinioned  to  the  posts.  He  was  foaming  at  the 
mouth  like  a  vicious  dog.  One  moment  horrid 
despair  sat  upon  him,  the  next,  his  eyes  set  in 
his  head  from  hideous  fright,  he  filled  the  watch- 
ers with  dread.  Often  calling  up  all  his  remain- 
ing strength,  he  vainly  endeavored  to  break  the 
cords  which  bound  him  and  destroy  his  enemies. 
The  furies  blocked  his  vision  and  he  shivered 
with  delirious  terrors.  Cold  sweat  flowed  down 
his  pallid  temple,  and  he  caught  his  breath,  as  if 
a  mountain's  weight  lay  upon  him.  The  flesh 
on  his  face  became  livid,  changing  from  purple 
to  black,  and  his  cries,  moans  and  howls  were 
unearthly.  It  was  a  dreadful  presence  to  witness 
and  the  doctor  said  that  there  was  no  hope  for 
him,  for  he  was  rapidly  passing  into  a  stage  of 
alcoholism  out  of  which  few  ever  come  alive.  We 
all  prayed  that  he  might  reach  a  lucid  interval 
during  which  he  would  be  capable  of  receiving 
the  sacraments.  He  was  a  man,  however,  of  great 
strength  and  in  the  mortal  combat,  the  alcoholic 
poison  slowly  wore  out,  and  reason  once  more  ap- 
peared in  a  being,  who  we  all  believed,  was  be- 
yond the  pale  of  human  or  divine  salvation.  He 
received  the  sacraments  after  due  preparation 
with  devout  dispositions,  and  promised  God 
never  again  to  touch  liquor.  We  made  up 
some  money  for  him  and  sent  him  to  Denver. 
I  am  satisfied  that  his  repentance  was  sincere, 
and  I  believe  that  from  that  day  to  this,  a  period 
of  eight  years,  he  has  not  tasted  a  drop  of 
intoxicating  liquor.  Wonderful  action  of  the 
Holy  Spirit! 

151 


IN  THE  SAN  JUAN 

When  once  Thou  visitest  the  soul, 
Truth  begins  to  shine, 
Then  earthly  vanities  depart, 
Then  kindles  love  divine. 

About  three  years  after  that  awful  sick-bed  scene, 
the  old  man  came  to  me  and  said:  *  'Father,  I 
want  to  go  home.  Will  you  write  to  my  wife 
and  try  to  reconcile  her  to  me  ?  Tell  her  that  I 
am  reformed  and  that  I  have  made  a  considerable 
sum  of  money  which  will  keep  us  the  rest  of  our 
lives.''  In  accordance  with  his  request,  I  wrote 
in  substance:  '  'Dear  madam: — You  will  no  doubt 
be  surprised  to  learn  that  your  husband  is  still 
alive.  For  three  years  he  has  led  the  life  of  a 
good  Christian.  He  has  a  competence  sufficient 
to  keep  you  both  in  your  old  age.  He  impresses 
me  favorably,  and  is  a  bright,  intelligent  man, 
having  none  of  the  hardness  or  cynicism,  which 
dissipation  usually  produces.  I  hope  you  will 
forgive  and  forget  the  past,  and  only  remember 
the  young  loving  couple,  whose  hands  and  hearts 
were  united  at  the  altar  in  1861,  when  he  was 
about  to  go  to  the  front  with  the  boys  in  blue. 
Drink  was  the  cause  of  all  his  trouble,  but  his 
affection  for  you  is  undiminished.  Think  of  the 
pledges  that  you  mutually  made  on  your  happy 
wedding  day,  and  receive  him  with  open  arms. 
You  will  be  all  the  happier  if  you  must  do  a  little 
violence  to  yourself  to  fulfil  what  I  believe  is  un- 
der the  circumstance  a  duty. ' '  I  am  happy  to 
to  say  that  the  old  lady,  who  hesitated  a  little 
through  fear  of  a  relapse  on  the  part  of  her  hus- 
band, finally  achieved  a  victory  over  her  natural 
distrust  and  by  the  grace  of  God  Tvelcomed  to  her 
home  the  wanderer.  I  am  also  pleased  to  have 
the  assurance  that  the  old  man,  home  again  with 

152 


BANEFUI,    EFFECTS   OF    INTEMPERANCE 

wife,  children  and  grandchildren,  has  kept  his 
solemn  pledge  and  leads  a  useful  life,  witnessing 
to  the  patience  of  God  with  sinners.  May  this 
example  of  a  remarkable  conversion  help  every 
unfortunate  victim  of  drink  to  seek  peace  where 
only  peace  can  be  found,  in  a  life  of  temperance. 


£63 


TENTH    SKETCH 

T  N  the  winter  of  1 890  the  whole  mountain  region 
[  lay  under  a  blanket  of  snow,  and  the  narrow 
trails  beaten  out  by  the  patient  burro,  were  the 
only  highways  a  great  part  of  the  season.  Mother 
Cline,  a  celebrated  snowslide  on  the  Ouray  road, 
had  come  down  and  filled  the  canon  to  a  depth 
of  fifty  or  sixty  feet  with  great  pines  and  enor- 
mous boulders.  Travel  was  dangerous  from 
Ouray  to  Red  Mountain,  and  for  fourteen  miles 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  range  to  Silverton. 
In  the  spring,  which  at  this  altitude  begins  about 
the  ist  of  May,  only  the  mail  carrier  will  ride  a 
horse  over  the  trails.  Snowslides  creep  silently 
at  first  down  the  mighty  slopes  and  suddenly, 
with  an  awful  roar,  overwhelm  the  unsuspecting 
victim.  When  the  snow  begins  to  thaw,  the 
crust  becomes  rotten,  and  horses  and  burros 
break  through  it. 

On  the  2  yth  of  April  I  received  a  summons  to 
a  sick  bed  from  Rico,  a  mining  camp  far  out  in 
the  Dolores  country,  and  over  100  miles  from 
Ouray.  The  man  who  bore  the  despatch  had 
ridden  forty-five  miles  across  two  ranges  of  moun- 
tains, and  over  roads  where  five  to  six  feet  of  snow, 
ice,  slush  and  high  drifts  obstructed  his  passage. 
The  wires  were  down  and  the  message  did  not 
reach  me  until  Tuesday  evening  at  five  o'clock. 
I  lost  no  time  in  setting  out  for  Dallas,  which  is 
fourteen  miles  north  of  Ouray,  believing  that  I 
might  proceed  by  stage  from  Dallas  to  Telluride, 
and  by  Trout  Lake  to  Rico.  What  was  my  sur- 
prise when  I  found  that  no  stage  ran  from  Tellu- 
ride to  Rico.  I  returned  from  Dallas  to  Ouray, 
arriving  at  eleven  p.  m.  and  perplexed  as  to  the 

154 


TEN   DAYS   ON   A  SICK 

course  to  pursue.  Saturday,  Sunday,  Monday 
and  Tuesday — the  man  must  be  dead;  he  was 
dangerously  sick  of  pneumonia — I  could  not  be 
home  by  Sunday.  Could  I  get  to  Rico  at  all? 
These  were  the  thoughts  that  occupied  my  mind, 
as  midnight  approached.  Duty,  I  exclaimed, 
and  hurrying  to  the  livery  I  ordered  my  horse 
and  saddle  for  half  past  five  in  the  morning.  The 
Sisters  of  Mercy  packed  my  vestments  for  holy 
mass  on  the  coming  Sunday.  The  holy  oils,  the 
chalice,  the  wine  and  bread  were  put  away  in  my 
grip,  and  all  the  necessary  preparations  were 
made  for  the  journey.  At  five  o'clock  I  said 
mass  in  the  little  stone  chapel,  and  a  quarter  to 
six  found  me  seated  on  a  good  snow  horse,  which 
means  one  that  will  take  it  easy  when  he  sticks  in 
the  snow  and  wait  patiently  until  you  dig  him  out. 
Old  Gray,  who  had  lost  one  ear  in  a  snowslide, 
and  always  played  lame  when  tired,  humped 
his  back  as  he  began  to  climb  the  mountain,  the 
crest  of  which  marked  thirteen  miles  from  home. 
Here,  where  the  little  city  of  Red  Mountain  nes- 
tles among  the  pines,  I  was  to  turn  my  faithful 
friend  loose  and  head  him  for  Ouray,  which  he 
rarely  failed  to  find.  We  got  along  very  well 
until  we  came  to  the  little  park  near  Iron  ton.  It 
was  still  quite  dark,  and  the  morning  was  crisp 
and  cold.  The  snow  was  hard  and  the  only 
danger  was  in  the  deep  holes  in  the  road.  Old 
Gray  managed  to  escape  for  a  long  time,  but  at 
last,  despite  his  cautious  movements,  slipped  and 
fell  into  a  hole,  out  of  which  he  could  not  rise, 
and  as  he  lay  on  my  leg  I  could  not  dismount 
and  help  him.  He  made  two  or  three  gentle  ef- 
forts to  get  up,  and  as  a  trained  horse  will  do, 
not  succeeding,  remained  quiet.  My  position 

155 


IN  THE  SAN  JUAN 

was  embarrassing  and  painful;  much  of  the 
horse's  weight  was  on  my  leg,  grinding  me  into 
the  frozen  ice  and  snow.  I  believe  it  was  my  long 
ulster  alone  that  saved  the  bone  from  breaking.  I 
kept  tugging  and  twisting  the  old  horse's  nose  and 
ear,  but  he  lay  stiff  as  a  log  in  the  snow.  What 
was  I  to  do?  I  was  growing  faint  from  pain,  and 
running  my  hand  into  my  overcoat  pocket  I  dis- 
covered my  hunting  knife,  which  I  had  recently 
cleaned.  I  cut  the  crust  around  my  hip,  and 
after  nearly  an  hour's  scraping  and  punching,  I 
was  enabled  to  get  from  under  old  Gray,  who, 
during  all  my  labors,  never  stirred.  Once  free 
myself,  I  soon  had  him  up.  By  this  time  it  was 
daylight,  and  I  was  on  the  alert  for  the  rest  of 
the  journey. 

On  my  arrival  at  Red  Mountain  I  sent  my 
gray  friend  home,  and  strapping  my  pack  on  my 
shoulders,  set  out  for  Silverton,  thirteen  miles 
down  grade.  The  sun  was  hot  and  reflected  its 
burning  rays  from  the  seething  masses  of  snow 
on  the  mountain  sides.  When  I  reached  the 
depot  the  bell  was  ringing  for  the  outgoing  train 
to  Durango.  Boarding  the  train  I  rode  to  Rock- 
wood,  which  is  forty-five  miles  from  Rico.  The 
stage  left  there  every  morning  at  nine,  and  when 
the  roads  were  good,  generally  made  connections 
with  the  train  going  to  Durango.  Fancy  my 
chagrin  when  I  learned  that  it  took  the  stage  two 
days  to  reach  Rico!  At  that  season  of  the  year, 
the  roads  being  bad,  sometimes  you  traveled  in  a 
wagon,  at  other  times  in  a  sleigh,  and  sometimes 
you  were  forced  to  walk.  You  had  to  push  the 
wagon  or  the  sleigh  to  help  the  fagged  horses  up  the 
slippery  hills,  and  by  way  of  change  you  spent 
hours  digging  the  almost  smothered  horses  out  of 

156 


TKN  DAYS   ON   A  SICK   CALL 

the  soft  snow  or  mending  broken  harness  with 
rope,  twine,  or  wire.  It  was  the  last  straw  on  the 
camel's  back  to  have  to  pay  seven  dollars  for  the 
privilege  of  riding  on  the  stage.  With  two  days 
more  on  the  road  I  began  to  think  that  the  sick 
man  was  not  only  dead,  but  buried.  To  render 
the  situation  more  exasperating  I  had  to  remain 
over  night  in  Rockwood  in  a  hotel  made  of  slabs 
and  logs  through  which  the  bitter  cold  winds 
came  at  will.  The  only  attraction  of  the  chamber 
in  which  I  slept  in  my  leggings,  overshoes  and 
great  coat,  was  a  square  of  gaudy  carpet  on  the 
floor,  which  seemed  to  mock  rather  than  give 
any  comfort.  In  the  morning  about  eight  I  met 
the  manager  of  the  stage  line  and  begged  for  a 
horse.  He  had  no  horse  to  spare,  but  he  had  a 
good  strong  mule;  on  its  right  knee,  however, 
there  was  a  bunch  about  as  large  as  a  man's  head, 
and  if  I  had  no  objections,  I  might  have  the  mule 
to  ride  to  Rico.  The  price  would  be  the  same  as 
on  the  stage,  and  he  would  wager  ten  dollars  that 
the  mule  would  carry  me  surely,  if  slowly,  to  my 
journey's  end  before  nine  that  night.  And  he 
did  carry  me  slowly,  and  as  will  be  seen,  very 
slowly. 

I  took  the  obliging  manager  at  his  word  and 
was  soon  seated  in  my  McClellan  saddle  with 
my  vestments  strapped  on  in  regular  marching 
order.  The  day  was  beautiful.  The  sun  was 
already  warm  and  little  streams  trickled  down 
the  cliffs  and  hills.  I  knew  the  road  and  the 
short  cuts  so  well  that  I  thought  I  could  not 
make  a  mistake,  but  experience  taught  me  that 
pride  goes  before  a  fall.  I  saw  a  short  cut  which 
I  believed  led  to  the  main  road  a  mile  from  Rock- 
wood.  Why  not  take  it?  I  was  in  a  hurry;  time 

157 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

was  precious.  Upon  taking  this  road  I  found 
instead  of  turning  to  the  left,  as  I  had  supposed 
it  would,  it  veered  to  the  right  more  and  more, 
and  presently  I  discovered  that  I  was  going  back 
to  Silvertcn.  Coming  to  what  is  called  in  the 
west  a  hogback,  I  had  a  view  of  the  surrounding 
country,  and  saw  the  road  a  mile  off.  I  would 
not  turn  back  and  go  over  the  same  road  again, 
but  cross  the  country  through  the  soft  snow  and 
fallen  timber.  I  followed  the  hogback  for  half  a 
mile,  and  the  traveling  was  fair,  but  at  the  bot- 
tom of  a  little  valley  into  which  I  descended,  I 
found  the  snow  deep  and  much  water.  With  a 
determination  born  of  courage  and  a  strong  mule, 
I  pushed  ahead,  when  all  of  a  sudden  one  of  my 
sources  of  security  failed  and  the  mule  disap- 
peared, leaving  visible  only  his  head,  shoulders 
and  embossed  knee.  I  had  broken  through  the 
ice;  I  was  in  a  lagoon.  In  a  moment  I  was  out 
of  my  saddle  and  standing  up  to  my  hips  in  water 
and  mud.  The  mule,  with  all  his  shortcomings, 
was  a  good  one,  and  with  a  powerful  lunge  came 
forth  from  his  watery  grave.  I  was  in  a  predica- 
ment and  rather  excited,  and  the  mule  was  trem- 
bling. I  looked  around  for  some  way  out.  I 
saw  a  house  in  the  distance  and  a  man  gesticulat- 
ing. I  waved  my  hand  to  him  and  he  ap- 
proached. He  proved  to  be  a  Mr.  Nary,  who  as- 
sisted me  in  getting  out  of  the  swamp  and 
brought  me  to  his  house.  To  say  that  the  priest 
and  mule  were  well  attended  would  be  putting  it 
mildly.  Hay  and  oats  were  given  to  the  mule, 
and  of  course  the  priest  received  a  royal  welcome. 
My  clothes  dried,  and  a  good  dinner  enjoyed,  I 
was  in  the  saddle  again  at  one  in  the  afternoon 
with  three  or  four  miles  to  my  credit,  but  still 

158 


TEN  DAYS   ON  A   SICK 

forty  miles  from  my  destination.  The  afternoon 
was  uneventful,  the  mule  putting  in  some  solid 
work  on  the  bad  roads.  At  dusk  I  was  within 
fifteen  miles  of  Rico  and  forging  my  way  along 
as  fast  as  I  could. 

The  awful  darkness,  which  fell  like  a  pall  over 
the  canon  and  on  the  misty  waters  of  the  Dolores, 
I  shall  not  forget.  The  silence  was  broken  at 
times  by  the  hoarse  roar  of  the  snowslide,  the 
short  bark  of  the  coyote,  and  the  dismal  wail  of 
the  mountain  lion  from  some  neighboring  cliff. 
But  the  only  fear  I  had  was  that  the  mule  might 
fall.  I  was  riding  over  ground  consecrated  by 
the  hardships  of  the  first  Franciscans,  who  hun- 
dreds of  years  before  followed  the  star  of  empire 
westward  and  named  the  sparkling  stream  Do- 
lores, sorrowful.  Was  it  for  the  sense  of  loneli- 
ness which  came  to  the  missionaries  as  they 
passed  the  silent  ruins  on  the  Mancos,  the  empty 
dwellings  on  the  cliff,  and  the  desolate  country 
which  once  fed  happy  thousands,  they  named  the 
stream,  Dolores?  At  last,  worn  out  by  my  long 
ride,  my  limbs  cramped  and  my  muscles  rigid 
from  constant  tension,  I  beheld  lights  here  and 
there  far  up  the  Dolores,  and  my  heart  was  filled 
with  joy.  The  mule  seemed  to  quicken  his  pace 
and  we  were  soon  at  the  hotel.  It  took  but  a 
few  minutes  to  locate  the  sick  man,  whom  I 
found  recovering,  at  the  turning  point  of  a  bad 
case  of  pneumonia.  I  met  the  doctor  and  Nick 
Hunt,  who  had  carried  the  despatch  over  that 
fearful  road,  and  was  nursing  the  sick  man  and 
keeping  up  the  courage  of  his  friend  until  the 
priest  should  arrive.  I  heard  the  sick  man's  con- 
fession and  then  inquired  about  the  welfare  of  the 
community.  The  doctor  told  me  he  had  a  pa- 

159 


IN    THE   SAN  JUAN 

tient  who  would  not  live  till  morning.  I  asked: 
"What  is  his  name?"  Hereplied:  "  Donovan.' '  I 
said:  "He  must  be  a  Catholic  from  the  name." 
The  doctor  did  not  know,  but  it  was  useless  to 
see  the  man  as  he  was  asleep,  and  his  life  de- 
pended on  this  sleep.  '  'Very  well,  then, ' '  I  said, 
"I  must  see  the  man  for  the  very  reason  that  he 
is  so  low.  I  must  prepare  him  for  death."  I 
cut  the  conversation  short  by  calling  Nick,  who 
had  a  pair  of  shoulders  that  would  fill  a  door,  and 
a  fist  like  John  L,.  Sullivan's,  to  accompany  me 
to  the  doctor's  office.  The  doctor  had  given  the 
patient  a  room  and  a  colored  man,  who  weighed  not 
less  than  200  pounds,  as  a  guard  and  attendant. 
I  was  not  very  small  myself  and  we  sallied  forth 
into  the  midnight  and  were  soon  tapping  at  the 
doctor's  office  door.  The  darky  peeped  out  and 
cried:  "Who's  thar?"  "The  Rev.  J.  J.  Gib- 
bons, of  Ouray,  to  see  Mr.  Donovan,  who  is  dan- 
gerously ill,"  I  replied,  and  pushing  the  darky 
aside  we  walked  in.  The  darky  remarked  as  I 
passed  him:  "I  think  he's  a  Prosbetyrian,  I 
does,"  but  I  declined  any  further  parley  with 
him.  Donovan  was  awake  in  the  other  room  and 
burning  up  with  fever.  He  looked  at  me  wildly, 
while  I  drew  a  stole  from  my  pocket.  I  held  up 
the  crucifix  to  his  gaze;  it  was  enough.  He 
said:  "Father,  I  wish  to  go  to  confession.  I  am 
so  glad  you  came,  I  have  been  longing  for  a 
priest."  Nick  took  care  of  the  darky  while  I 
was  hearing  Donovan's  confession  and  preparing 
him  for  death.  Then  we  left  the  office,  and  soon 
in  the  cold  room  and  hard  bed  at  the  hotel  I  was 
asleep,  with  no  mules  or  bad  roads  to  trouble  me. 
In  the  morning  I  met  my  old  friend  McCor- 
mick,  a  bachelor,  who  came  to  Rico  in  1881, 

160 


TEN  DAYS   ON   A   SICK   CAU, 

when  the  boom  was  on,  built  a  cabin  and  located 
several  claims.  McCormick's  cabin  was  the 
warmest  and  snuggest  house  in  town;  every- 
thing was  as  neat  as  wax,  indicating  what  a 
comfortable  place  a  willing  bachelor  may  have. 
Me  had  one  of  those  famous  chests  modeled  after 
the  traditional  Irish  chest,  with  the  exception, 
however,  that  the  chest  in  question  was  his  sleep- 
ing quarters.  In  the  daytime  it  served  for  a 
lounge,  the  blankets  being  stowed  within  it.  At 
night  it  was  unfolded.  The  lid  with  legs  suitably 
fitted  to  it,  answered  for  one  bed,  on  which  I  slept 
when  I  was  in  Rico,  while  the  owner  slept  in 
the  chest  proper. 

"A  chest  contrived  a  double  debt  to  pay, 

A  bed  by  night,  a  chest  of  drawers  by  day.'* 

With  thick  blankets  and  a  blazing  fire  of  pine 
wood,  the  cabin  was  warm  the  coldest  nights. 
McCormick  had  been  running  a  tunnel  into  the 
mountain  for  years.  Alone  he  had  driven  it 
many  hundred  feet.  Fickle  fortune,  however, 
did  not  smile  upon  him,  and  the  strike  which  he 
hoped  to  make,  remained  in  a  state  of  possibility. 
His  hopes  brightened  when  the  great  strike  was 
made  on  the  Enterprise  mine,  and  twelve  hours 
a  day  were  put  in  forcing  his  way  into  the  solid 
granite.  During  all  these  years  of  suspense  the 
grub  sack  was  in  a  low  state,  bacon,  flap-jacks 
and  a  dozen  of  Kansas  eggs  for  Lenten  fare,  with 
a  surplus  of  Colorado  potatoes,  formed  the  solids 
for  the  ambitious  driller  in  the  mine.  Now  and 
then,  when  the  larder  grew  empty,  Me  was  com- 
pelled to  work  at  other  mines  in  order  to  replen- 
ish his  vanishing  commons  and  acquire  a  little 
capital  to  buy  powder.  Whenever  I  came  to 

,  161 


IN  THE  SAN  JUAN 

town  McCormick  enjoyed  a  few  days  of  feasting: 
on  porterhouse  steak,  ranch  eggs,  bakers'  bread, 
the  best  coffee  and  other  things  that  are  reputed 
delicacies  in  mountain  camps.  He  was  a  fair 
cook  and  so  was  I,  and  the  meals  we  dished  up 
were  superior,  if  not  in  quality,  at  least  in  quan- 
tity, to  such  as  are  furnished  in  many  a  moun- 
tain hotel.  After  supper  my  genial  host  lit  his 
pipe,  took  an  old  violin  from  over  the  door  and 
sat  down  to  discourse  sweet  music.  While  not  an 
artist  like  Paganini,  he  possessed  more  than 
ordinary  musical  talent  and  played  many  difficult 
pieces  at  sight,  which  is  a  rare  thing  for  a  work- 
man. He  loved  to  play  the  old  Irish  reels  and 
jigs,  and  like  most  Irish  fiddlers,  kept  his  feet  on 
the  move,  beating  time.  When  tired  of  the  fiddle 
he  closed  the  concert  for  the  evening  with  some 
well-sung  Irish  ballad.  When  the  boys  heard  I 
was  at  Mc's  they  would  call  at  night  to  tender 
their  greetings  and  hear  the  news  from  the  camps 
around.  I  generally  ended  the  entertainment 
with  some  devotional  practice.  Me  was  a  de- 
vout Christian.  For  twelve  years  in  the  moun- 
tains around  Rico,  he  had  worked  hard  and  tried 
to  make  a  sale  of  his  property,  but  failed.  He 
was  growing  old  and  suffering  from  an  injury  re- 
ceived when  a  boy,  and  his  sufferings  were  ag- 
gravated by  the  great  altitude  at  which  he  lived 
for  so  long  a  time.  Scarcity  of  money,  however, 
prevented  him  from  seeking  change  of  climate.  At 
last,  broken  down  in  health,  he  saddled  his  little 
burro,  and,  packing  the  necessary  furniture, 
sought  an  inferior  altitude  and  milder  climate 
near  Grand  Junction.  Years  of  toil  had  under- 
mined the  splendid  constitution  of  McCormick 
and  he  could  stand  no  more;  so,  like  Wolsey  on 

162 


TEN   DAYS   ON   A  SICK   CAU, 

liis  way  to  meet  the  king,  Me  rested  at  a  cabin 
by  the  wayside,  and  asked  the  hospitality  of  the 
owner.  But  after  a  few  days'  illness  he  died,  the 
burro,  the  violin,  the  gun  and  the  dog  defraying 
the  funeral  expenses  of  one  of  the  noblest  men  I 
have  met  in  the  far  west.  May  he  rest  in  peace. 
The  Sunday  morning  following,  a  large  num- 
ber of  Catholics  and  Protestants  attended  religious 
services  which  I  held  at  the  Grand  Army  Hall. 
I  announced  services  for  the  evening  again,  and 
requested  the  prayers  of  the  congregation  for  the 
speedy  recovery  or  happy  death  of  Paul  BrefFort, 
a  young  man  who  was  one  of  the  pioneers  of 
Rico.  After  many  years  of  prospecting,  Paul  had 
struck  it,  and  his  young  wife  and  two  children 
were  then  on  the  Atlantic  on  a  trip  to  the  old 
folks  at  home.  Paul  had  weak  lungs  and  always 
feared  pneumonia,  which  is  so  fatal  in  the  moun- 
tains. The  moment  I  stood  beside  his  bed  I  saw 
death  written  on  his  face.  With  his  nerve  lost  and 
a  look  of  despair  in  his  glazed  eye,  I  could  see  there 
was  no  hope  of  his  recovery.  The  poor  fellow 
threw  his  arms  around  my  neck  and  wept  as  he 
thought  of  his  absent  wife  and  children.  I  suc- 
ceeded at  length  in  pacifying  him,  and  bade  him 
employ  the  time  as  became  a  brave  Christian. 
He  grew  calm  and  resigned,  receiving  all  the 
rites  of  the  church  with  great  devotion.  Sunday 
night  he  died,  mourned  by  every  man,  woman 
and  child  in  Rico.  I  remained  over  until  Tues- 
day to  attend  the  funeral,  at  which  the  ceremo- 
nies of  the  church  were  carried  out  with  as  much 
pomp  as  a  western  mining  camp  allowed,  and 
grief-stricken  Protestants  and  Catholics  accompa- 
nied the  remains  of  a  good  man  to  the  little 
churchyard. 

163 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

On  the  morning  of  the  next  day  I  set  out  on 
horseback  for  Telluride  in  the  company  of  a  Den- 
ver attorney.  The  day,  as  well  as  I  can  remem- 
ber, was  May  3,  and  the  snow,  although  thawing 
rapidly,  was  still  very  deep  on  the  Meadows. 
We  left  Rico  at  seven  in  the  morning  on  two- 
stout  bronchos,  which  we  were  to  ride  as  far  as 
the  roads  would  permit,  and  then  dismiss,  to 
town.  My  legal  friend  permitted  his  horse  to  re- 
turn before  the  roads  became  very  bad,  while  I 
kept  in  the  saddle,  riding  between  banks  of  snow 
from  six  to  eight  feet  high  in  some  places.  It 
was  hard  to  move  with  soft  snow,  cakes  of  ice, 
slushy  puddles  and  big  holes,  which  gave  the 
way  the  appearance  of  a  honeycomb.  Struggling 
and  panting  with  the  effort  to  hold  his  feet,  at 
length  my  horse  fell  and  was  unable  to  rise.  At 
that  moment,  opportunely  enough,  a  son  of  the 
green  isle,  with  a  big  roll  of  blankets  on  his  back, 
came  along.  I  seized  the  broncho  by  the  head 
and  my  hardy  son  of  toil  having  released  himself 
from  the  encumbrance  of  his  baggage,  took  him 
by  the  tail,  and  after  considerable  effort,  turned 
him  straight  into  the  road.  As  a  recompense  for 
the  kindly  help  he  lent  me,  I  entrusted  the  horse 
to  him,  requesting  him  to  take  the  animal  back  to 
Rico.  Having  arranged  my  pack  on  my  shoulder  I 
moved  on  and  soon  overtook  "the  man  of  law,1' 
who  generously  shared  the  burden  with  me.  We 
tramped  over  the  rough  road  to  Trout  Lake, 
where  we  arrived  in  the  afternoon.  There  we 
met  the  stage  from  Telluride,  and  having  dried 
our  clothes  and  enjoyed  a  good  dinner,  we  set  out 
for  Telluride,  which  we  reached  about  seven  in 
the  evening.  I  said  mass  the  following  morning 
and  gave  the  Catholics  of  that  little  town  an  op- 

164 


TEN   DAYS   ON   A   SICK   CAU, 

portunity  to  make  their  Easter  duty.  When  at 
Telluride  I  used  to  say  mass  at  Mrs.  Margowski's. 
Ten  thirty  of  that  morning  found  me  again  in  the 
saddle,  pushing  on  to  Marshall  Basin,  one  of  the 
richest  silver  and  gold  camps  in  the  world.  After 
riding  three  or  four  miles  I  intended,  as  usual,  to 
turn  back  the  horse,  but  a  mile  and  a-half  from 
town,  I  met  a  burro  train  in  the  snow.  It  was  like 
the  Merrimac  corking  the  bottle  of  Santiago  de 
Cuba,  it  effectually  stopped  me,  so  I  was  compelled 
to  back  my  horse  and  turn  him  around  towards 
Telluride  and  let  him  go  back.  Afoot  and  alone  I 
went  up  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain  near, 
the  Virginius.  On  the  sunny  side  of  the  moun- 
tain, miniature  snowslides  were  slipping  down  at 
every  turn,  and  in  many  places  on  the  trail  I 
walked  over  sixty  to  seventy  feet  of  snow,  with  a. 
probability  of  that  mighty  mass  breaking  loose,, 
carrying  me  for  miles  to  the  gulch  below,  and' 
burying  me  in  a  snow  tomb,  which  it  might  take 
several  years  to  thaw  out.  I  watched  my  every 
movement  carefully,  for  I  remembered  the  inci- 
dent of  the  mail  carrier  who  was  carried  away  by 
an  avalanche  one  Christmas  eve  at  a  point  near 
the  Ophir  range.  It  was  hinted  that  he  had  left 
the  country  with  the  Christmas  presents  that 
came  from  home  to  friends  in  the  mountains. 
Money  is  a  prolific  source  of  evil  in  thought  as 
well  as  deed.  But  the  mail  carrier's  friends  were 
mistaken  in  their  suspicions,  for  three  years  later 
their  theory  of  his  sudden  departure  was  exploded, 
when  they  found  the  honest  fellow  on  the  farther 
side  of  a  lake  in  the  shade  of  a  hill  frozen  in 
snow  and  ice,  and  faithful  to  his  trust,  with  the 
mail  bag  still  strapped  to  his  back.  As  I  strug- 
gled along  with  my  ulster  and  grip,  for  I  had 

165 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

sent  my  vestments  ahead  on  the  stage,  I  was 
nearly  prostrated  by  the  terrible  heat.  At  two  in 
the  afternoon  I  attained  the  topmost  point  of  the 
pass.  It  would  shake  the  nerve  of  the  strongest 
to  pass  through  a  country  of  gulches  in  which  a 
mountain  of  snow  suddenly  came  crashing  along, 
snapping  trees  in  twain  and  carrying  immense 
boulders  in  its  course.  The  ear  constantly  caught 
the  reverberating  tones  of  distant  snowslides,  and 
far  up  the  giddy  heights  desolation  and  solitude 
reign  supreme. 

In  this  gateway  of  the  Rockies  I  knelt  down 
in  the  snow  and  returned  thanks  to  God  for  his 
protection  in  taking  me  over  a  passage  full  of 
dangers  and  alarms.  I  felt  hungry  enough  to 
take  my  lunch,  and  after  a  while  spent  in  reading 
the  inscriptions  that  were  cut  in  the  rocks,  gen- 
erally proclaiming  God's  goodness  and  man's 
misery,  I  began  the  descent  to  Ouray,  thirteen 
miles  down  the  canon.  I  moved  slowly  at  first, 
the  frozen  snow  on  the  shady  side  of  the  moun- 
tain being  very  slippery.  Make  a  misstep  and 
you  may  be  treated  to  a  slide  of  a  mile  or  two, 
with  a  probability  of  taking  fire  from  friction. 
As  I  went  down  the  mountain  side  the  snow  grad- 
ually became  softer.  I  manoeuvred  around  for 
short  cuts,  not  following  the  regular  trail,  and 
using  the  tail  of  my  great  ulster  for  a  sled. 
When  going  too  fast  I  drew  up  my  feet,  employ- 
ing them  as  brakes,  and  before  long  arrived  at 
Porter's,  wet  and  tired.  For  the  rest  of  my  jour- 
ney the  roads  were  fairly  good,  and  I  reached 
Ouray  early  in  the  evening,  having  been  away 
ten  days  on  a  sick  call. 


166 


ELEVENTH  SKETCH 

GREAT  dangers  are  apt  to  arise  on  sick  calls 
to  the  mountain  camps,  especially  in  the 
winter  season,  which  includes  a  period,  ex- 
tending from  the  last  of  September  to  the  first  of 
June.  Late  in  September,  the  storms  of  rain  and 
hail,  which  in  the  great  altitudes  are  accom- 
panied with  thunder  and  lightning,  are  hard  of 
realization  to  a  native  of  the  lower  country.  The 
rain  falls  in  torrents,  the  atmosphere  is  saturated 
with  electricity,  and  ear-splitting  peals  of  thunder 
cause  the  stoutest  heart  to  quail.  By  the  end  of 
spring,  it  is  well  nigh  impossible  to  travel  over 
the  passes,  the  road  being  honeycombed  with 
holes,  made  by  horses,  mules,  burros  and  men. 
When  the  snow  freezes  at  night,  the  pass  be- 
comes so  dangerous,  that  people  venture  over  it, 
only  in  cases  of  necessity. 

It  was  in  such  circumstances,  that,    in  early 
spring,   I  received  a  telephone  message  from  the 

Yankee  Girl  mine,   announcing  that  C had 

fallen  140  leet  down  a  shaft,  and  was  lying, 
broken  and  crushed,  at  the  point  of  death. 
The  message  came  shortly  before  daybreak. 
Dennis,  my  trusty  Achates,  and  myself  pre- 
pared for  the  journey  of  nine  miles.  Owing  to 
the  inclemency  of  the  winter,  I  had  not  visited 
Ironton  for  some  time,  so  I  determined  to  take 
the  vestments,  and  afford  the  little  household  of 
faith,  working  at  the  mines,  an  opportunity  to 
hear  mass,  and  go  to  holy  communion.  I  tele- 
phoned to  Ironton  to  that  effect;  and  we  were 
soon  moving  slowly  along  in  the  narrow  trail  on 
the  toll  road.  The  journey  was  beset  with  dif- 

167 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

ficulties,  as  the  snow  was  not  hard  enough  to 
support  us,  and  the  road  was  perforated  with 
deep  cavities,  the  edges  of  which  were  frozen. 
We  slipped  into  these  holes  from  time  to  time,  and 
found  it  troublesome  to  draw  our  feet  out  of  them. 
We  had  two  horses,  but  were  compelled  to  walk 
most  of  the  way,  and  lead  the  animals.  Having 
arrived  after  many  struggles  at  Ironton,  we  left 
our  horses  at  the  livery  stable,  and  proceeded  on 
foot  to  the  Yankee  Girl.  As  we  went  higher  up, 
the  snow  became  deeper  and  the  road,  worse. 
Many  times  we  fell  with  the  pack  of  vestments, 
which  Dennis  was  kind  enough  to  carry  most  of 
the  way.  At  last,  and,  of  course,  much  fatigued, 
we  reached  the  Yankee  Girl  and  found  poor 

C in  a  sad  plight.     Most  of  his  bones  were 

broken,  and  he  lay  on  his  bunk,  suffering  intense 
agony,  but  still  retaining  his  senses.  It  is  in- 
spiring to  witness  the  rare  patience  with  which 
the  hardy  miner  endures  pain.  The  night  shift 
were  in  bed  all  around  me,  and  in  hearing  the 
confession  of  the  wounded  man,  I  was  obliged  to 
make  use  of  special  precautions.  Seven  or  eight 
of  the  boys,  all  from  Donegal,  Ireland,  were 
anxious  to  go  to  confession  and  receive  holy 
communion.  There  was  no  convenient  place  in 
the  house,  in  which  I  could  hear  them.  I  was  ta 
say  mass  in  the  long  dining  room,  up  and  down 
which  the  cooks  and  waiters  continually  rushed, 
keeping  a  deafening  clatter  of  dishes  and  plates,, 
which  made  it  hard  to  hear.  So  I  said:  "Boys, 
I  will  go  out  to  the  sunny  side  of  the  building, 
and  lean  against  the  wall.  You  may  come  out, 
one  at  a  time,  and  I  will  hear  your  confessions. " 
Standing  there,  and  to  the  passer-by  apparently 
drinking  in  the  beauty  of  the  mountain  scenery,, 

168 


VIRTUE,    THE   ONI<Y    NOBILITY 

I  spent  half  an  hour  hearing  the  young  men's 
confessions.  Meanwhile,  Dennis  was  busily  en- 
gaged, setting  up  a  temporary  altar,  and  making 
appropriate  preparations  for  the  holy  sacrifice. 
After  mass,  at  which  the  boys  all  assisted  with 
praiseworthy  devotion,  I  administered  the  last 
sacraments  of  the  church  to  the  sick  man,  who 
was,  presently,  taken  by  a  special  train  to  Du- 
rango,  where  the  doctors  decided  that  it  would 
be  necessary  to  put  him  in  a  plaster  of  paris  cast 
to  keep  him  together. 

Mr.  C ,  like  all  his  compatriots,  was  a  fine 

specimen  of  nature's  noblemen.  Manly,  cheer- 
ful and  Christian,  he  was  intelligent,  hardwork- 
ing and  edifying.  He  was  unlike  those  libels  on 
Christianity,  who,  to  be  reputed  smart,  copy  the 
ways  of  the  profane,  and  vie  with  scoffers  in  re- 
peating pert  quips  and  flippant  jests  about  holy 

things.      C lived  well,  and,   consequently, 

died  well.  I  improve  this  opportunity  to  say  a 
word  in  praise  of  the  young  men,  who  came  from 
the  Emerald  Isle  to  this  country.  They  are  a 
valuable  contribution  to  our  fast-growing  popu- 
lation, and,  in  the  best  sense,  promote  the  grand 
destiny  of  the  American  people,  who,  in  their 
cosmopolitan  composition,  possess  little  of  the 
boasted  Anglo-Saxon,  but  a  great  deal  of  the 
Anglo- Celtic,  element.  The  future  historian  will 
be  amused  to  read  the  recent  nonsense  of  the  daily 
press,  upon  the  close  kinship  of  Americans  and 
Britons.  We  are  a  mighty,  independent,  inventive 
people;  and  do  not  plume  ourselves  upon  mere 
matters  of  descent.  The  Donegal  boys,  while  in- 
dustrious and  self  reliant,  never  forgot  the  les- 
sons of  the  little  catechism,  which  they  had 
learned  at  home.  I  pause  to  remark  that  no 

169 


IN   THE  SAN  JUAN 

philosopher  will  ever  attain  the  satisfactory  solu- 
tion of  the  real  problems  of  life,  outside  the  doc- 
trine condensed  in  this  much-neglected  catechism. 
These  boys,  knowing  that  they  were  created  to  love 
and  serve  God  on  earth  and  enjoy  Him  in  heaven, 
cultivated  the  theological  and  cardinal  virtues, 
which  constitute  the  summary  of  true  morality. 
They  were  not  ashamed  of  the  religion  of  the  great- 
est heroes  of  history;  and  after  crossing  the  ocean, 
continued  to  devote  themselves  to  the  religious 
practices  of  their  childhood.  When  not  com- 
pelled to  work  on  Sunday,  it  was  their  wont  to 
walk  down  toOuray,nine  or  ten  miles,  and  assist 
at  holy  mass.  They  were  known  for  the  sobriety 
of  their  lives,  and  the  careful  observance  of  the 
laws  of  the  church.  They  had  in  one  of  the 
youngest  of  the  boys  a  model  of  virtue,  and,  to 
some  extent,  a  guardian,  who  kept  a  fatherly 
watch  over  them,  and  checked  any  exhibitions  of 
waywardness  among  them.  How  different  they 
were  from  those  young  men  who  frequent  bar- 
rooms and  season  their  speech  with  curses  and 
obscenity  ! 

I  often  asked  myself,  why  these  young  men 
were  so  moral  and  faithful  to  their  religion.  I 
thought  it  must  be  because  they  came  from  a 
country  where  their  fathers  had  fought  and  died 
for  the  faith,  leaving  a  priceless  heritage  to  their 
descendants.  Living  among  pseudo-reformers, 
and  listening  to  the  ribald  songs  and  lampoons  of 
Orangemen,  they  grew  strong  in  the  midst  of 
adversity;  and  their  roots,  like  those  of  the  storm- 
beaten  tree  on  the  mountain,  sank  deeper  and 
deeper  for  the  opposition  they  encountered.  In 
an  atmosphere  of  bigotry,  and  hostility  to  na- 
tional freedom,  they  waxed  vigorous  and  fervent 

170 


VIRTUE,    THE    ONI.Y    NOBIUTY 

in  their  love  for  holy  church  and  her  salutary 
teachings,  their  mental  faculties  acquiring  a  rare 
acuteness,  as  they  were  disciplined  in  defense  of 
the  truth.  Great  as  has  been  the  growth  of  the 
church  in  a  land  so  favorable  to  it  as  the  United 
States,  it  would  be  much  greater  if  her  children 
lived  in  strict  conformity  to  her  doctrine  and 
admonitions;  and  the  young  men,  of  whom  I 
speak,  endeavored  to  extend  the  kingdom  of  God 
on  earth,  by  the  best  of  all  sermons,  consistent 
Christian  lives.  If  they  were  remarkable  for 
anything  in  particular  besides  their  religious 
character,  it  was  for  their  skill  in  dialectics  and 
their  ready  wit.  Who  has  not  listened  to  the 
glib  tongue  of  the  Donegal  peddler,  and  how 
many  have  been  forced  to  admit  his  victory  in 
discussion  !  Many  a  doughty  opponent  has  gone 
down  before  his  biblical  knowledge.  Taking  his 
adversary  on  his  own  ground,  he  would  rout  the 
latter  with  his  own  weapons  and  on  the  field  of 
his  own  choosing.  Perhaps,  another  reason  for 
the  solid  virtue  of  these  young  men,  may  be 
sought  in  the  circumstancev  that  it  was  in  the 
mountains  and  glens  of  the  north  they  had  been 
bred.  There  was  no  place  in  such  an  environ- 
ment for  luxury  and  effeminacy.  They  were 
inured  to  toil,  content  with  little,  and  therefore 
wise.  Few  appreciate  the  truth  so  beautifully 
expressed  by  the  poet,  that  adversity  is  the  be- 
fitting cradle  of  wisdom: 

So,  would' st  thou  'scape  the  coming  ill, 
Implore  the  Dread  Invisible 

Thy  sweets  themselves  to  sour  ! 
Well  ends  his  life,  believe  me,  never, 
On  whom,  with  hands  thus  full  forever, 

The  gods  their  bounty  shower. 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

And  if  thy  prayer  the  gods  can  gain  not, 
This  counsel  of  thy  friend  disdain  not — 

Invoke  adversity  ! 
And  what  of  all  thy  worldly  gear, 
Thy  deepest  heart  esteems  most  dear, 

Cast  into  yonder  sea. 

As  contrasts  serve  to  enlighten,  I  will  here  give 
an  example  of  the  opposite  kind  of  character. 
That  same  year,  which  is  the  period  of  my 
sketch,  I  think  it  was  during  the  second  week 
in  June,  I  happened  to  be  at  Silverton.  After 
mass,  one  morning,  I  received  a  despatch  from 
Rico,  urging  me  to  come  on  without  delay;  as  a 
man  was  dangerously  sick  there.  I  took  the 
afternoon  train  to  Durango,  where  I  remained 
over  night,  and  in  the  morning,  set  out  to  Rico, 
by  way  of  Rock  wood.  We  had  a  heavy  load  of 
passengers  and  mail  matter. 

Rico  was  then  enjoy  ing  its  second  boom.  The 
Enterprise  mine,  owned  by  the  Schwickheimers, 
had  become  one  of  the  great  properties  of  south- 
western Colorado.  Mr.  Schwickheimer  had 
worked  for  years,  sinking  a  shaft,  and  many 
a  time  to  procure  the  necessary  funds,  had 
been  obliged  to  go  into  the  mountains  and  earn 
some  money,  by  running  a  saw  mill.  His  pluck 
and  energy  were  rewarded,  and  in  my  time  he 
had  1 80  men  engaged  in  the  mine,  for  which 
he  afterwards  received  $1,000,000  in  cash.  His 
success  excited  others,  everyone  desired  to  grow 
rich  fast,  and  thousands  of  ambitious  miners 
and  speculators  were  hastening  to  Rico.  Real 
estate  went  up  500  per  cent. ,  houses  and  cabins 
that  had  been  neglected  for  years  were  put  in 
repair  and  everyone  had  a  prospect  or  two. 
The  rush  had  begun  early  in  the  spring,  and 

172 


VIRTUE,    THE   ONLY    NOBIUTY 

merchandise,  mining  and  milling  machinery  and 
household  effects  of  every  sort  lined  the  way  from 
Rockwood  to  Rico.  Mining  experts  and  com- 
mercial travelers  were  hurrying  pell-mell  to  the 
scene  of  new  discoveries,  the  former,  to  buy  and 
place  property,  and  the  latter,  to  sell  their  vari- 
ous commodities.  Among  the  notables  were  big 

C of  Denver,  and  another  drummer   called 

"Windy."  He  was  a  genial  gentleman,  whom 
I  had  known  for  some  time.  Some  time  before, 
we  had  together  faced  a  dreadful  storm  on  the 
Ouray  toll  road,  when  the  stage  had  to  be  aban- 
doned. We  were  walking  down  a  very  steep  place 
leading  to  Ouray,  on  which  there  was  nothing 
but  ice;  all  of  a  sudden,  the  two  feet  were  taken 
from  under  my  cheerful  companion  and  he  fell, 
with  an  awful  thud,  plump  on  the  broad  of  his 
back.  Desiring  to  show  my  sympathy  I  asked 
if  he  were  hurt.  To  my  surprise  he  seemed  to 
be  offended  by  the  remark,  for  he  instantly  re- 
plied, '  'What  do  you  take  me  for,  do  you  think 
that  would  hurt  a  man  T '  He  was  not  at  all 
ruffled,  but  kept  the  whole  crowd  in  good  humor. 
At  noon,  the  stage  drew  up  before  a  partially 
constructed  log  house,  which  had  a  makeshift  of 
a  roof  in  some  thin  white  canvas.  Our  stage 
driver,  who  hailed  from  New  Jersey,  having  a 
keen  eye  for  the  main  chance  and  genuine 
Yankee  shrewdness,  had  taken  up  a  homestead 
between  the  two  ranges  of  mountains,  put  the 
house  partly  up,  flung  in  a  stove,  and  was  ready 
to  serve  meals  in  any  style.  Seventy-five  cents 
was  deemed  reasonable  at  the  wayside  in  those 
days,  and  when  a  strong,  rough  meal  was  dished 
tip  hot,  no  one  found  fault.  The  stage  driver  took 
the  greatest  pride  in  his  wife's  pumpkin  pie,  al- 

173 


IN  THE  SAN  JUAN 

though  the  pumpkins  came  in  cans  from  the  far 
east,  and  pressed  them  on  his  guests,  commend- 
ing their  rare  qualities  with  an  easy  flow  of  wit 
and  humor.  He  made  a  typical  boniface  and  did 
everything  to  render  his  hostelry  an  agreeable 
place  of  resort. 

Among  the  passengers  on  the  stage  there  was  a 
sour-looking  character  who  laughed  long  and 
loud  at  a  filthy  story,  and  sneered  at  everything 
that  related  to  God  or  Christian  decency.  A 
drink  now  and  then  from  a  long  black  bottle 
with  a  neck  as  short  as  the  entrance  to  Santiago 
de  Cuba,  increased  his  hilarity  as  well  as  the 
volubility  of  his  foreign  tongue.  Like  the  man 
on  the  Appian  Way,  he  felt  compelled  to  reveal 
himself  upon  the  beloved  subject,  self — and  boast- 
fully proclaimed  the  infidel's  views  to  the  disgust 
of  everyone.  No  one  would  suspect  that  it  was 
only  three  short  years  since  this  blatant  specimen 
of  humanity  left  the  cottage  of  his  father  and 
came  to  this  country  at  the  expense  of  a  hard- 
working brother,  whose  lamp  of  life  was,  at  the 
time,  flickering  on  the  upper  floor  of  a  rickety 
boarding  house  in  Rico.  He  did  not  let  the 
passengers  know  that  this  brother  of  his  was  then 
lying  ill,  but  interlarded  his  profane  speeches 
with  Munchausen  accounts  of  the  mining  pros- 
pects of  his  worthy  relation. 

In  crossing  the  Hermosa,  the  driver,  while 
making  the  turn  at  the  bridge,  swung  the  leaders 
out  too  far.  One  of  the  horses,  slipping  over 
the  bank,  in  a  moment  was  in  the  swift  current, 
and  being  rapidly  drawn  under  the  bridge,  was 
pulling  his  mate  with  him,  when  a  passenger 
sprang  from  the  stage,  and  with  his  pocket-knife 
cut  the  traces  and  lines.  In  an  instant  the 

174 


VIRTUE,    THE   ONLY    NOBIUTY 

animal  was  swept  under  the  bridge,  and  drowned 
in  the  raging  torrent.  The  rest  of  the  distance 
was  made  slowly;  most  of  us  got  out  of  the  coach 
and  walked  up  the  steep  hills  to  lighten  the 
burden  of  the  horses,  whose  biggest  meal  in  the 
day  is  vulgarly  called  long  oats,  to  wit:  the 
whip.  We  arrived  at  the  mining  camp,  just  as 
the  candle  began  to  twinkle  in  the  cabin  win- 
dow. A  crowd  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  stage 
at  the  postoffice,  some  looking  for  friends,  others 
for  letters,  and  still  others  lingering  around  to 
gratify  their  curiosity.  Rico,  at  the  time,, 
counted  a  resident  population  of  some  1,300, 
but  the  floating  population  raised  the  figure 
1,000  more.  Everyone  had  a  little  money  and 
the  people  were  rushing  around,  upon  business 
bent.  The  streets  were  thronged  with  men,  who 
were  desperately  earnest  in  pursuit  of  one  pet 
scheme  or  other,  and  there  were  not  a  few,  who, 
like  Micawber,  were  waiting  for  something  to 
turn  up.  The  class  of  promoters  is  always  well 
represented  in  a  mining  town.  They  sometimes 
make  a  sale,  or  as  it  is  called, a  turn,  but  general- 
ly live  from  hand  to  mouth.  They  seldom  suc- 
ceed, for  they  have  neither  the  experience,  the 
ability,  nor  the  perseverance,  of  the  man  who 
has  a  vocation  for  mining.  Here  also  congregate 
the  confidence  men  and  thieves,  who  flock  to  new 
camps,  trying  to  make  something  out  of  nothing, 
and  have  an  easy  time.  The  hotels  were  full, 
and  beds  were  at  a  premiun.  Upon  the  first 
rush,  an  enterprising  firm  came  from  the  east, 
and  erected  a  showy  hotel,  which  had  very  fine 
appointments  for  a  mountain  town.  It  was  three 
or  four  stories  high,  and  had  winding  stairs  and 
some  handsome  furniture.  Waiters  in  flashy 

175 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

costume  stood  behind  the  chairs  in  the  ordinary, 
and  pushed  them  under  you  with  such  a  sharp 
jerk  that  you  felt  as  if  you  were  about  to  fall  on 
your  back;  the  napkins  were  done  up  in  triangular 
shape  and  the  bill  of  fare  was  in  the  approved 
fashion.  The  swell  style  of  the  whole  concern 
nearly  paralyzed  the  miners,  who  are  men  of 
simple  ways;  it  was  not  long  until  it  paralyzed 
the  firm,  too,  for  the  tall  price  and  the  airy  menu 
soon  drove  the  hotel's  patrons  to  the  less  aristo- 
cratic boarding  house  and  its  substantial  meals. 
Having  alighted  from  the  stage,  I  lost  no  time 
in  seeking  the  sick  man.  He  was  very  ill,  but 
had  enough  of  strength  left  to  make  a  long  fight, 
and  perhaps  recover.  I  heard  his  confession 
and  promised  to  bring  him  the  holy  communion 
in  the  morning.  I  then  betook  myself  to  Mc- 
Cormick's  neat  cabin,  which  was  always  open  to 
the  priest.  Next  morning,  I  said  mass  and  pre- 
pared the  sick  man  for  death,  as  he  showed  signs 
of  growing  weaker.  During  the  day,  I  was  ap- 
prised that  a  mother  and  her  baby  were  ill  at  the 
springs  on  the  West  Dolores;  I  was  requested  to 
come  to  see  them.  I  visited  most  of  the  Catholics 
in  the  camp,  and  we  considered  plans  for  build- 
ing a  church.  Accompanied  by  a  brother  of  the 
sick  woman,  I  left  Rico  the  next  morning  for  the 
West  Dolores.  The  air  was  fresh  and  bracing, 
and  the  ride  of  eighteen  miles  was  a  mere 
pastime.  On  the  high  plateau,  called  the  Mead- 
ows, over  which  we  rode,  the  grass  was  stealing 
up  through  the  cold  ground,  still  soggy  from  the 
enormous  snowfall  of  the  previous  winter.  We 
met  a  man  riding  a  chestnut  horse,  which  threw 
out  one  of  its  fore  feet,  and  I  remember  I  called 
the  attention  of  my  companion  to  the  beauty  and 

176 


VIRTUS,    THE  ONLY    NOBIUTY 

military  step  of  the  animal.  The  horseman  wore 
a  Mexican  sombrero  and  seemed  to  eye  us  with 
suspicion,  but  we  passed  on  without  speaking. 
That  same  day,  and  about  the  same  hour,  one  of 
the  greatest  bank  robberies  in  the  history  of  the 
state  occurred  at  Telluride,  about  thirty  miles 
from  where  we  then  were.  The  robbery  was 
well  planned  and  executed,  and  the  stranger  on 
the  chestnut  horse  was,  perhaps,  on  his  way  at 
that  moment  to  join  his  companions,  who  were 
riding  with  the  booty  for  dear  life.  For  several 
weeks  before  the  robbery,  three  men  had  been 
camping  on  the  mesa  south  of  Telluride.  They 
had  four  horses,  one  of  which  was  used  to  pack 
the  camping  utensils  and  cumbersome  baggage. 
The  horses  were  well  fed  with  oats,  and  blanketed 
every  night,  something  unusual  for  ordinary  cow- 
boys to  do.  Every  afternoon  they  rode  into  town, 
took  a  few  drinks,  smoked  good  cigars  and  were 
social  companions  for  the  miners.  Upon  these 
visits  they  learned  all  that  was  necessary  about 
the  bank,  ascertained  the  pay  day  of  the  miners, 
and  resolved  to  hold  up  the  cashier.  At  that 
time  there  were  400  or  500  men  working  in 
Marshall  Basin,  and  on  the  day  when  the 
miners  were  paid,  a  general  holiday  was  ob- 
served. When  the  day  arrived  the  three  men 
came  to  town  on  horseback,  a  circumstance 
which  no  one  would  notice,  and  after  reconnoiter- 
ing  for  some  time,  went  to  a  saloon,  where  they 
took  only  a  cigar  each.  The  day  before  $22,000 
had  been  sent  to  Telluride,  and  was  in  the  regula- 
tion time  safe.  At  twenty  minutes  to  ten,  the 
cowboys  again  mounted  their  horses,  rode  past  the 
bank,  and,  I  presume,  saw  that  the  safe  was 
open.  Wheeling  around  in  the  square,  they 

177 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

withdrew  to  an  alley,  where  they  dismounted, 
tightened  their  saddle  girths,  remounted,  and 
rode  back  to  the  bank.  One  remained  in  the 
saddle  and  held  the  horses  of  the  other  two,  who 
strolled  leisurely  into  the  bank,  as  if  to  draw 
money,  or  make  a  deposit.  The  bookkeeper  was 
just  leaving  the  bank  with  a  package  of  letters 
for  the  postoffice,  so  that  only  the  cashier,  who 
was  also  teller,  was  in  at  the  time.  Not  a  soul 
was  near,  when  the  tall,  dark  robber  stepped  up 
to  the  teller,  and  bade  him  throw  up  his  hands. 
That  official  turned  around,  looked  at  him  and 
began  to  laugh,  but  before  the  laugh  left  his  face 
the  man  on  the  outside  pushed  the  long  barrel  of 
a  revolver  almost  into  his  mouth,  and  with  an 
awful  oath  threatened  to  kill  him.  The  cashier's 
hands  went  up  at  once,  and  the  other  robber 
sprang  over  the  railing  and  quickly  emptied  into 
a  gunny  sack  the  crisp  greenbacks  that  were 
stacked  on  the  counter,  as  well  as  all  the  gold 
that  was  at  hand.  From  the  piles  of  silver  he 
took  only  a  few  dollars.  The  affrighted  cashier 
was  informed  by  the  robber  who  was  guarding 
him,  that  he  had  a  mind  to  kill  him,  as  a  coward 
is  not  fit  to  live.  They  warned  him  to  keep 
quiet,  and  give  no  alarm;  and,  with  this  caution, 
the  pair  of  daylight  robbers  walked  out  of  the 
bank.  Strange  to  say,  during  the  whole  trans- 
action there  was  not  a  man  in  sight.  The  cool- 
ness of  these  men  may  be  judged  from  the  re- 
marks of  the  tall  dark  one,  who  said,  "Boys, 
the  job  is  well  done,  and  we  have  plenty  of  time, 
keep  cool  now  and  let  us  be  gone. ' '  Once  in  the 
saddle,  they  rode  up  the  street,  shooting  off  their 
guns,  as  a  warning,  no  doubt,  to  all  who  might 
try  to  capture  them.  The  sheriff  of  the  county 

178 


VIRTUE,    THE    ONI,Y    NOBIUTY 

was  standing  in  the  courthouse  door  when  they 
rode  by,  hooting,  yelling  and  firing  off  their  re- 
volvers. He  declared  if  he  had  had  his  horse  he 
would  follow  and  arrest  those  notorious  cowboys. 
The  cashier,  growing  bold,  took  a  peep  out;  and 
finding  the  coast  clear,  stepped  into  the  street 
where  he  met  the  bookkeeper,  who  was  returning 
from  the  postoffice.  The  former  was  as  pale  as 
death,  trembled  from  head  to  foot  and  with  a 
mighty  effort,  stammered  out:  * '  I-t-s-a-l-l- 
g-o-n-e. ' '  Fifteen  minutes  after  the  bank  had  been 
looted,  twelve  men  were  in  the  saddle,  and  away 
over  the  hills  after  the  robbers.  The  pursuit  was 
fast  and  furious  for  a  few  miles,  but  the  grass-fed 
horses  were  no  match  for  the  grain-fed  and  well- 
picked  animals  of  the  bank  thieves.  Arrived 
at  Trout  Lake,  fifteen  miles  away,  they  rested, 
swallowed  big  doses  of  whiskey,  and  amused 
themselves  by  shooting  the  letters  out  of  the  signs. 
When  they  beheld  the  sheriff's  posse  a  short  dis- 
tance away,  they  mounted  again  and  rode  off 
hastily.  The  sheriff  followed,  but  some  of  the 
horses  lay  down  on  the  road,  and  when  the 
Meadows  were  reached, of  the  twelve  who  started, 
only  two  or  three  were  able  to  continue  the  chase. 
The  others  went  to  Rico  to  get  fresh  horses.  By 
this  time,  the  robbers  were  not  far  behind  us.  We 
met  a  Swede  on  the  trail  about  two  miles  out  from 
the  Meadows;  he  had  been  looking  at  his  bear 
traps  and  was  on  his  way  home  to  prepare  his 
noon-day  meal.  While  thus  engaged,  the  bank 
robbers  came  in,  and  it  is  said  that  the  Swede 
cooked  the  meal  for  the  four  in  short  order  style, 
as  one  of  them,  who  was  under  the  influence  of 
liquor,  followed  him  around  the  house  with  a 
loaded  revolver;  however,  he  gave  a  twenty  - 

179 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

dollar  gold  piece  to  the  Swede;  and,  wishing^ 
him  good  day,  left  in  a  hurry.  In  those  days, 
the  timber  was  so  thick  that  one  man  could  de- 
fend himself  against  a  dozen.  The  robbers 
knew  every  trail  in  Colorado  and  Utah,  and  a 
brigade  of  soldiers  would  have  little  chance  of  ar- 
resting them. 

We  arrived  at  the  West  Dolores  Springs  about 
noon,  and  had  dinner.  I  attended  the  sick  call, 
baptized  the  child  and  rendered  whatever  spirit- 
ual aid  I  could,  to  the  mother,  and  then  we 
set  out  on  the  return  trip.  There  was  a 
light  shower  at  the  time,  so  we  made  up  our 
minds  to  shorten  the  way  by  crossing  the  moun- 
tains, and  make  Rico  in  nine  instead  of  eight- 
een miles,  which  was  the  distance  by  the  road. 
By  doing  so,  we  missed  the  bank  robbers,  who 
about  that  time  were  enjoying  the  enforced 
hospitality  of  the  Swede. 

That  afternoon,  we  passed  through  some 
of  the  finest  timber  of  pine  and  spruce  I  had 
ever  seen.  Some  of  the  pines  were  100  feet  high 
without  a  limb;  indeed,  this  was  one  of  the 
primeval  forests,  where  the  axe  and  saw  mill  had 
not  found  an  entrance.  Going  up  the  shady  side 
of  the  mountain,  we  found  many  feet  of  snow  in 
the  old  trail,  although  it  was  late  in  June. 
Streams  were  rushing  down  on  all  sides,  and 
myriads  of  beautiful  flowers,  peering  up  through 
the  snow,  made  a  pleasing  picture.  When  we 
reached  Rico,  all  the  town  was  agog  over  the 
bank  robbery.  All  the  old  horses  and  muskets 
were  brought  into  requisition,  large  rewards  were 
offered  for  the  apprehension  of  the  robbers;  but 
not  one  of  them  was  ever  caught.  They  must 
have  made  their  way  to  the  Blue  Mountains  of 

180 


VIRTUE,    THE    ONLY     NOBILITY 

Utah  and  may  be  there  yet.  The  Robbers  Roost 
has  long  been  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  the  author- 
ities, and  recently,  some  of  these  bandits  were 
captured  and  others  killed. 

Upon  my  return  to  Rico,  I  went  to  see  my  sick 
patient,  who  had  been  neglected  in  the  interval, 
by  his  worthless  brother,  who  was  a  gambler  as 
well  as  toper.  I  found  the  poor  fellow  weak,  but 
sanguine  of  recovery.  I  sat  by  his  bedside,  far 
into  the  night.  During  my  vigil,  the  brother,  in 
a  state  of  inebriation,  came  into  the  cheerless 
room,  remained  only  a  few  moments  and  departed 
for  his  dear  haunt,  which  was  a  saloon  across  the 
way.  Before  leaving  the  hopeful  man,  I  informed 
him  that  I  should  be  obliged  to  leave  early 
for  home  next  morning,  as  it  would  take  two 
days  to  get  back  to  Ouray .  I  encouraged  him  and 
promised  to  call  again  in  the  morning,  before 
taking  the  stage.  I  bade  him  good  night.  Soon 
I  was  sound  asleep  at  McCormick's,  where  the 
alarm  clock  startled  me  at  five  in  the  morning.  I 
dressed  in  a  hurry,  and,  after  a  while,  was  on  the 
street  to  seek  the  boarding  house  of  the  sick  man. 
Up  the  old  decaying  stairs,  which  were  built  on 
the  outside,  I  pressed  my  way.  At  the  second 
story  landing,  I  found  a  long  dark  hall,  on  the 
right  hand  side  of  which,  and  near  the  middle  of 
the  building,  was  the  large  room  in  which  he  lay. 
I  walked  in  with  as  little  noise  as  possible.  The 
early  dawn  was  just  stealing  in  through  the  dusty 
window,  casting  a  sickening  glamor  over  the  pale 
face  and  white  coverlets,  which  met  my  gaze.  I 
approached  cautiously  and  said  to  myself,  '  *  He  is 
sleeping  peacefully,  and  now  that  the  crisis  has 
passed,  he  will  surely  recover. "  I  laid  my  hand 
on  his  forehead,  and  to  my  horror,  found  the  man 

181 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

was  dead.  There  he  was,  cold  in  death,  the 
blanket  still  drawn  around  him,  but  not  a  soul  to 
close  his  eyes  or  stretch  out  the  lifeless  form.  I 
went  back  to  McCormick's,  procured  my  ritual 
and  returned  to  the  death-chamber.  Lighting 
the  candle,  I  read  the  burial  service — alone  with 
the  dead  man,  sprinkled  the  corpse  with  holy 
water,  and,  tearing  a  leaf  from  niy  diary,  wrote 
in  substance:  "This  body  has  been  blessed  for 
the  grave,"  and  signed  my  name.  Having  pinned 
the  notice  on  the  breast  of  the  deceased  I  put 
out  the  candle,  and  from  the  awe-inspiring  scene 
stole  quietly  away.  I  was  soon  on  the  stage  and 
whirling  along  the  mountain  road  to  Telluride, 
absorbed  in  the  sober  reflections  awakened  by  my 
latest  experience.  As  I  thought  of  the  forsaken 
brother, dying  alone  in  that  dark,  cheerless  room, 
I  might  have  well  been  led  to  consider  that  when 
death  comes,  a  man  feels  he  is  alone  with  God. 
How  true  it  is  that  if  we  desire  to  have  a  little  of 
the  composure  of  the  higher  life  in  death,  we 
must  cultivate  much  of  the  loneliness  of  death  in 
life  !  It  is  the  part  of  the  wise  to  live  in  the  face 
of  death. 


182 


§ 

o 


I 


TWELFTH    SKETCH 

IT  is  said  that  Colorado  will  be  one  of  the 
greatest  states  in  the  Union.  The  unlimited 
variety  of  her  productions,  the  salubrity  of  her 
climate,  and  her  inexhaustible  treasures  of  gold, 
silver,  coal,  iron,  marble  and  stone,  insure  her 
future  pre-eminence.  The  resources  of  other  sta  tes 
are  few,  and  many  of  them  have  uncongenial 
climates,  but  the  Centennial  state  has  all  the 
natural  advantages  of  her  sisters,  and,  besides,  a 
population  that  for  enterprise  and  energy  have 
earned  for  themselves  the  significant  title  of  Rust- 
lers. Some  portions  of  Colorado  are  barren,  yet 
there  is  a  large  part  of  the  state  so  rich  in  the 
precious  metals,  and  having  such  a  high  degree 
of  fertility,  that  she  promises  to  rival  the  most  il- 
lustrious nations  of  the  past.  What  was  the  city 
of  Denver  thirty  years  ago?  A  village.  Now 
what  is  it?  A  metropolis,  and  known  far  and  wide 
as  the  Queen  City  of  the  Plains.  The  same  quali- 
ties which  have  made  Denver  what  it  is,  have 
borne  similar  fruits  in  other  portions  of  the  state; 
but  perhaps  nowhere  more  conspicuously  than  in 
the  San  Juan,  where  possibilities  are  revealing 
themselves,  which  will  place  it  among  the  most 
prosperous  sections  of  the  state.  Take  that  tract 
of  land  around  Durango,  Farmington  and  Fort 
1/ewis.  What  more  fertile  soil!  What  a  field  of 
enterprise  for  the  man  devoted  to  agriculture  and 
horticulture!  For  here  will  one  day  be  cultivated 
the  vine,  which  for  quality  and  quantity  will  vie 
with  the  products  of  the  richest  vineyards  of 

183 


IN    THE    SAN   JUAN 

sunny  France.  I  will  reserve,  for  another  part 
of  this  sketch,  the  enumeration  of  other  sources 
of  prosperity,  which  this  region,  teeming  with 
plenty,  possesses. 

Thirty  years  ago  the  San  Juan  was  a  mere 
wilderness.  With  the  exception  of  the  hardy 
trapper  and  hunter,  the  white  man  scarcely  ever 
entered  its  canons,  traveled  along  its  rivers,  or 
over  its  mountains  and  dense  forests.  The  tepee 
of  the  wild  Indian,  smoke-colored  and  tattered, 
was  the  only  sign  of  human  life,  where  to-day 
nature's  latent  forces  are  employed  in  the  interests 
of  a  progressive  nation.  Electricity  has  changed 
the  face  of  things.  By  this  power  the  great  min- 
ing mill  has  supplanted  the  old-time  water  mill. 
It  has  taken  the  place  of  the  coal  oil  lamp,  and, 
in  many  cases,  the  miner's  candle.  With  its  bril- 
liancy it  has  dispelled  the  faint  gloom  that  for- 
merly hovered  over  the  town  and  the  mine,  thus 
turning  night  into  day.  The  ground  is  no  longer 
parched.  Swift  sparkling  springs  wind  their 
silvery  course  through  plains,  which  once  were 
arid.  Modern  machinery,  in  skillful  hands,  has 
cut  channels  through  which  rush  the  life-giving 
waters,  that  convert  the  desert  into  a  garden.  As 
I  gazed  upon  these  first  fruits  of  nature,  awak- 
ened by  science  to  a  new  life,  there  arose  before 
my  vision  fields  of  grain  rising  and  falling  like 
waves  of  molten  gold  in  the  setting  sun,  and  a 
happy  population  engaged  in  industrial  pursuits 
and  enjoying  the  fruits  of  their  toil. 

* 'There  in  full  prime  the  orchard  trees  grow  tall, 
Sweet  fig,  pomegranate,  apple  fruited  fair, 

Pear  and  the  healthful  olive.     Kach  and  all 

Both  summer  droughts  and  chills  of  winter  spare; 

All  the  winter  round  they  flourish.     Some  the  air 


COLORADO   AMONG   THE   STATES 

Of  zephyr  warms  to  life,  some  doth  mature. 
Apples  grow  on  apple,  pear  on  pear, 

Fig  follows  fig,  vintage  doth  vintage  lure, 
Thus  the  rich  revolutions  do  aye  endure.'* 

And  as  my  vision  lingered  over  this  scene,  Du- 
rango,  bearing  in  her  hand  the  horn  of  plenty, 
appeared  the  mistress  of  the  southwest.  For  lo- 
cation, altitude,  climate,  mineral  and  agricultural 
resources,  this  city  is  second  to  none  in  southern 
Colorado,  and  must  eventually  become  a  great 
center  of  trade.  She  has  her  smelters  to  treat 
the  train  loads  of  ore  that  day  by  day  are  brought 
down  from  Silverton  and  elsewhere.  The  waters 
of  the  Las  Animas  River  flow  through  it,  furnish- 
ing a  power  that  might  be  conserved  for  many 
purposes. 

Durango  has  mild  winters.  Snowstorms,  how- 
ever, prevail,  but  the  snow  melts  so  rapidly  that 
the  tinkle  of  the  sleigh  bells  is  seldom  heard  in 
the  streets.  The  atmosphere  is  not  so  dry  as  that 
of  other  towns,  having  an  equal  elevation.  But 
the  climate  possesses  qualities  which  build  up  the 
broken-down  system  without  weakening  the 
nerves.  The  valley  to  the  north,  on  the  way  to 
Silverton,  is  one  of  the  richest  and  most  beautiful 
in  Colorado.  It  is  nine  miles  in  length,  and 
sheltered  by  red  granite  walls  rising  hundreds  of 
feet  and  shutting  out  the  cold  winds  of  the  higher 
regions.  Fruit,  vegetables  and  grain  yield  large 
returns,  and  the  opportunities  for  the  ranchman 
surpass  his  expectations.  Toward  the  north  is 
one  of  the  most  notable  watering  places  in  the 
San  Juan.  Hither  throng  year  after  year  multi- 
tudes of  tourists,  the  sick,  the  decrepit  and 
rheumatic,  all  taking  the  medicinal  waters  which 
boil  up  from  the  solid  rock.  To  this  fountain  of 

185 


IN  THE   SAN  JUAN 

Perpetual  Youth  the  miner  repairs  to  invigorate 
his  system,  impaired  by  hard  work  and  the  nerv- 
ous tension  caused  by  the  high  altitude  of  Sil- 
verton  and  its  neighboring  mines.  Pneumonia 
is  much  feared  at  the  mines,  and  when  the  first 
symptoms  of  the  dread  disease  appear  the  sick 
miner  at  once  seeks  a  low  altitude  and  enters  the 
sisters'  hospital  at  Durango.  The  miners  look 
upon  the  hospital  as  their  home  in  time  of  illness, 
and  properly,  too,  because  they  liberally  con- 
tributed to  its  erection,  and  upon  all  occasions 
show  their  good  will  toward  it. 

Some  of  the  mines  around  Silverton  are  at  an 
elevation  of  12,000  feet  far  above  timber  line,  and 
have  been  worked  with  profit  for  several  years. 
Silverton  has  always  been  a  thrifty  mining  town. 
It  lies  in  a  beautiful  park  and  is  surrounded  by 
very  high  mountains.  It  is  well  laid  out  and 
has  some  large  business  blocks  and  many  neat 
cottages,  and  for  those  who  can  bear  a  dry,  cold 
climate,  it  is  a  desirable  place  to  live  in.  The 
summer  and  fall  are  delightful,  and  the  winters, 
though  cold,  are  not  unpleasant.  It  has  churches 
and  schools,  and  as  I  said  in  a  previous  sketch, 
an  altar  society  worthy  of  great  praise  for  their 
zeal  in  the  cause  of  religion.  A  branch  of  the 
Denver  &  Rio  Grande  Railroad  extends  from 
Silverton  to  Durango  through  the  L,as  Animas 
Canon.  As  there  is  a  down  grade  nearly  all  the 
way  to  Rock  wood,  the  brakes  are  kept  well  set, 
and  the  train  is  borne  along  by  its  own  mo- 
mentum. The  scenery  is  varied,  and  generally 
partakes  of  the  sublime.  Along  the  track  flows 
the  I/as  Animas  River,  the  bed  of  which  is  strewn 
with  immense  boulders,  over  which  the  waters 
dash  in  their  impetuous  course.  Massive  rocks, 

186 


COLORADO  AMONG  THE  STATES 

weighing  thousands  of  tons,  overhang  the  river 
and  the  track,  and  in  some  places  shut  out  the 
light  of  day.  In  every  few  miles,  tributaries, 
rushing  through  the  sides  of  the  canon,  feed  the 
Las  Animas.  At  intervals  along  those  inacces- 
sible heights,  the  eye  rests  upon  naked  crags  and 
forests  of  pine,  around  which  are  scattered  gigan- 
tic trees  lying  prone  on  the  ground.  Now  the 
sight  of  the  spectator  is  refreshed  by  patches  of 
green  sward,  and  again  by  mountain  flowers, 
which  lend  enchantment  to  the  view  and  clothe 
the  mountain  with  a  varied  hue. 

What  has  been  said  of  Silverton  may  be  here 
repeated  about  Rico,  Ophir  and  Telluride.  Situ- 
ated in  a  spacious  park,  which  narrows  down  into 
the  San  Miguel  valley,  Telluride  is  a  typical 
mountain  town,  progressive,  and  having  an  en- 
terprising population.  Many  of  the  modern  im- 
provements are  found  there,  and  its  pretty  resi- 
dences are  set  off  by  the  graceful  trees  which 
grow  along  the  streets.  At  some  distance  may 
be  seen  the  snow-capped  peaks  of  Marshall  Basin, 
which  contain  the  great  mines,  which  have  given 
Telluride  a  prosperous  community.  BANCROFT 

Life  in  the  mining  regions,  especially  in  the  JJBRAR/ 
wilds  of  the  San  Juan,  is  little  known  to  eastern 
people.  Indeed,  even  to  most  western  people  it  is  a 
land  of  mystery,  for  only  a  few,  and  these  princi- 
pally miners,  go  there  to  seek  their  fortune.  Far 
away  from  the  Queen  City  of  the  Plains,  the  cen- 
ter of  commercial  life  in  Colorado,  it  attracts 
only  the  energetic  and  the  robust,  who  have  the 
hardihood  to  endure  the  severe  cold  that  prevails 
in  those  altitudes.  Many  of  her  mines  discov- 
ered and  developed  within  the  last  fifteen  years 
may  be  classed  among  the  richest  in  the  world. 

187 


IN    THE    SAN  JUAN 

The  quantity  and  the  quality  of  the  ore  extracted 
from  those  underground  storehouses  are  such  as 
to  surpass  even  the  fabulous  wealth  of  Croesus. 
Let  me  point  to  the  mines  of  Sneffles  Basin,  Mar- 
shall Basin,  the  mines  of  Ophir,  the  Sunny  Side, 
the  North  Star  and  the  Yankee  Girl  of  the  Red 
Mountain  district.  The  latter,  I  was  informed, 
produced  $450,000  in  the  short  space  of  four 
months.  It  must  not  be  inferred,  however,  that 
nuggets  of  gold  and  chunks  of  silver  are  picked 
up  by  chance  on  the  surface  of  the  mountains. 
This  may  be  true  of  some  favored  locality,  but 
most  of  San  Juan's  mines  have  become  rich  pro- 
ducers by  hard  labor,  an  immense  outlay  of 
money,  and  an  endurance  of  untold  hardships. 
Nevertheless,  some  of  the  mines  have  been  dis- 
covered at  the  grass  roots,  and  a  few  have  made 
fortunes  in  a  very  short  time.  But  the  locator 
seldom  realizes  much  from  his  valuable  find,  as, 
generally  speaking,  hundreds  of  feet  of  a  shaft 
must  be  sunk  in  the  solid  rock  before  a  mine 
pays.  To  do  this,  machinery  of  various  kinds 
must  be  set  up,  houses  erected,  for  the  construc- 
tion of  which  large  trees  must  be  cut  down,  and 
often  hauled  up  very  high  mountains,  at  an 
enormous  expense. 

Those  who  have  never  seen  a  mine  entertain 
rather  peculiar  notions  of  its  workings  and  gen- 
eral appearance.  The  mines  of  the  San  Juan  are 
what  are  called  fissure  veins.  Those  veins  may 
be  traced  for  a  long  distance  across  the  country, 
but  ordinarily  only  in  one  kind  of  formation, 
such  as  granite,  trachyte,  quartsite,  etc.  The 
vein  is  found  to  vary  in  width,  averaging  from  a 
few  inches  to  many  feet.  It  is  often  barren  on 
the  surface,  or  shows  a  little  gold  or  silver,  but 

188 


COLORADO   AMONG  THE  STATES 

may  increase  in  richness,  as  depth  is  gained.  But 
it  may  be  a  bonanza  before  even  the  pick  or  shovel 
is  used.  In  deep  mines  the  shafts  are  neatly  tim- 
bered, to  prevent  the  accidents  that  may  occur 
from  the  falling  of  loose  rocks  and  caves.  Elec- 
tric light  is  used  in  many  of  the  mines,  rendering 
the  interior  not  the  gloomy  hole  which  the  un- 
initiated picture  to  themselves.  A  cage,  resem- 
bling the  elevator  in  a  hotel,  brings  you  up  and 
down  the  shaft  from  one  level  to  another.  These 
levels  may  be  compared  to  tunnels,  and  are  some- 
times illuminated  by  electric  lights.  They  are 
excavated  on  the  vein  for  the  purpose  of  getting 
out  the  ore  with  more  facility  and  bringing  it  to 
the  main  shaft,  where  it  is  conveyed  to  the  sur- 
face by  the  cage.  Some  of  the  machinery  used  in 
these  mines  costs  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dol- 
lars. In  most  mines  large  volumes  of  water  make 
their  way  through  the  rock  into  the  shaft,  re- 
quiring pumps  of  the  largest  capacity  to  keep  out 
the  water  and  render  the  mines  workable.  The 
number  of  men  employed  depends  largely  on  the 
hardness  of  the  rock,  the  amount  of  ore,  and  the 
extent  of  the  mine's  development.  To  cut 
through  the  solid  rock  it  is  necessary  to  use 
machine  drills,  which  blacksmiths  are  con- 
stantly engaged  in  sharpening.  To  sink  a  shaft 
through  certain  kinds  of  rock  involves  a  cost  as 
high  as  twenty  dollars  a  foot,  without  taking  into 
consideration  the  expenditure  for  machinery, 
hauling  and  other  incidental  requirements. 

The  average  wages  of  miners  in  the  San  Juan 
was  three  and  a-half  dollars,  until  the  reduction  in 
the  monetary  value  of  silver  took  place.  During 
the  pioneer  days  the  wages  paid  the  miners  was 
much  higher.  That  the  miners  are  a  class  who 

189 


IN   THE   SAN  JUAN 

are  deserving  of  high  wages  is  evident  to  any 
one  who  reflects  upon  the  many  dangers  and 
hardships  to  which  they  are  subjected.  The 
miner  is  no  time  server  " amid  these  mountains 
old  and  gray."  He  is  a  freeman,  and  perhaps 
enjoys  a  larger  measure  of  independence  than 
most  men.  By  sinking  his  shaft  deeper  on  his 
prospect,  or  lengthening  the  tunnel,  he  pays  his 
yearly  taxes  to  Uncle  Sam. 

In  the  mining  camps  cabins  are  constructed  of 
logs  of  spruce  or  pine,  hewed  smooth  by  the  keen 
adz  to  fit  closely,  then  the  chinks  are  filled  with 
mountain  mortar,  which  is  a  protection  against 
the  intense  cold  of  that  region.  The  old  fire- 
places, similar  to  those  which  our  forefathers 
built  on  the  frontiers  half  a  century  ago,  may  still 
be  seen  along  the  streams  of  the  San  Juan  falling 
into  decay.  They  are  sad  reminders  of  a  gen- 
eration that  is  passing  away.  If  married,  the 
miner  lives  with  his  family  in  camps,  villages 
and  cities  like  Durango,  Silverton  or  Ouray. 
Their  homes  are  neat,  and  in  them  are  found  all 
the  comforts  of  life,  comforts  sometimes  even 
bordering  upon  luxury.  He  is  a  good  liver, 
there  being  nothing  small  or  miserly  in  him. 
Work  and  location  require  that  he  should  eat 
well.  The  nervous  tension  at  such  an  altitude 
has  such  an  effect  upon  body  and  mind  that  the 
best  food  is  indispensable  to  supply  the  rapid 
waste  that  is  continually  going  on.  In  order  to 
blast  the  solid  rock  it  is  necessary  to  drill  deep 
holes.  This  is  done  by  one  man  striking  on  the 
drill  while  the  other  is  turning  it.  Such  work 
demands  no  small  amount  of  muscular  force, 
hence  the  necessity  of  good,  substantial  food. 
Vegetables,  such  as  radishes,  onions,  lettuce,, 

190 


COLORADO   AMONG  THE  STATES 

beets  and  carrots,  grow  at  an  altitude  of  9,000 
feet,  while  potatoes  and  cabbage  are  raised  at  an 
inferior  altitude,  or  may  be  bought  at  reasonable 
prices  from  the  ranchmen  in  the  valleys. 

The  miner  is  nature's  student.  His  special  de- 
light is  to  examine  the  various  rocks  and  discuss 
the  different  formations.  The  geological  knowl- 
edge he  displays  would  do  credit  to  some  of  our 
noted  scientists.  He  is  acquainted  with  modern 
theories  concerning  the  origin  of  the  precious 
metals.  And  it  would  seem  that  the  lofty  peaks 
by  which  he  is  surrounded  make  him  a  man  of 
broad  views  and  noble  ideals,  and  as  the  nature 
of  his  pursuit  in  life  causes  him  to  travel  around 
from  one  mining  country  to  another,  he  has  a  prac- 
tical knowledge  of  geography  and  an  experience 
which  make  him  quite  an  interesting  fellow.  He 
is  possessed  of  a  sound  judgment  and  a  critical 
mind  which  place  him  above  the  average  man, 
though  he  may  not  understand  formal  logic;  in 
short,  he  is  the  embodiment  of  good  nature  and 
sociability. 

The  Denver  &  Rio  Grande  Southern  Railroad 
has  built  from  Telluride  to  Vance  Junction  a 
branch,  which  make§  connection  with  the  main 
line  on  the  San  Miguel  River.  Canon  would  be 
a  more  appropriate  name  than  valley,  for  this  wide 
chasm  in  the  Rockies,  as  there  is  little  vegetation, 
and  the  ranches  are  few  and  small.  Gold  in  fair 
quantities  has  been  discovered  at  Saw  Pit  and 
close  to  Placerville.  Some  eastern  syndicates  put 
up  large  plants  of  machinery,  but  receive  small 
returns  for  the  vast  sums  invested.  On  either 
side  of  the  canon  the  red  sandstone  walls  rise  to 
great  heights.  On  the  right  as  you  go  down  the 
stream  is  the  San  Miguel  Plateau,  rich  in  all  that 

191 


IN   THE)  SAN  JUAN 

makes  a  great  stock  country,  while  on  the  mesas 
to  the  left  are  Gypsum  Valley,  Paradox  Valley, 
Basin  Plateau  and  Island  Plateau.  A  finer  coun- 
try could  hardly  be  desired.  The  land  is  quite 
level  around  Wright's  Springs,  and  is  irrigated 
without  difficulty.  The  San  Miguel  waters  this 
vast  region,  which  also  contains  many  small 
streams,  not  yet  named  on  the  maps.  Here  the 
deer  and  the  elk  winter  and  bask  in  the  sunshine, 
while  the  north  wind  pierces  the  traveler  on  the 
mountains  above.  Grand  Junction,  which  is  on 
the  border  line  of  this  sparsely  settled  country,  is 
a  well-known  market  of  peaches,  apples,  grapes, 
and  other  varieties  of  fruits.  Even  people  out- 
side the  state  have  heard  of  Grand  Junction  Peach 
Day,  which  is  a  yearly  celebration  of  the  wonder- 
ful productiveness  of  this  section  of  the  San  Juan. 
There  is  a  vast  acreage  of  wheat,  corn  and  other 
cereals  in  the  Grand  Valley,  where  Grand  Junc- 
tion stands.  There  is  not  a  sufficient  rainfall  to 
insure  regular  crops,  but  the  system  of  irrigation, 
which  has  been  introduced  in  recent  years,  is 
complete  and  effective.  Large  farms  are  now 
watered  at  the  proper  time  and  in  a  few  hours. 
The  water  is  supplied  from  the  main  ditch,  which 
is  built  on  the  highest  ground  and  regulated  by 
headgates,  which  can  be  readily  opened  or  shut. 
A  single  acre  has  produced  fifty  bushels  of  wheat 
or  eighty  bushels  of  oats.  Generally,  the  returns 
compare  favorably  with  those  of  the  best  tilled 
lands  of  the  east. 

Coming  up  the  Gunnison  River  from  Grand 
Junction,  the  first  town  that  greets  the  traveler  is 
Delta.  It  breaks  on  the  eye  bright  and  cheery 
and  drives  away  all  the  dreary  impressions  left 
by  the  sand  hills,  jagged  rocks  and  desert  land 

192 


COLORADO   AMONG  THK  STATES 

that  skirts  the  river  for  many  miles.  At  Delta 
this  gloomy  canon  spreads  out  like  a  fan  to  the 
foothills.  Here  the  Uncompaghre  and  the  Gun- 
nison  form  a  junction,  and  the  whole  valley  is 
well  settled.  Many  of  the  ranchmen  are  wealthy, 
and  all  have  comfortable  homes. 

In  a  southeasterly  direction,  thirty-five  miles 
from  Montrose,  and  in  the  canon  of  the  Uncom- 
paghre, nestles  Ouray,  the  picturesque.  The 
Uncompaghre  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and 
fertile  valleys  in  the  San  Juan,  and  so  favored  by 
nature  that  Uncle  Sam  regarded  it  as  a  good  site 
for  a  fort.  Here  Ouray,  the  chief  of  theUtes, 
built  an  adobe  house,  where  he  lived  in  peace 
with  his  charming  Chipeta.  The  ruins  of  this 
house  still  exist,  and  are  pointed  out  to  the  trav- 
eler, a  memorial  of  a  vanishing  race. 

Shall  I  describe  Ouray?  No.  This  task  I  will 
leave  to  a  poet  priest,  a  dear  friend  of  mine,  who, 
during  a  short  sojourn  there,  was  so  enraptured 
with  the  city  and  its  surroundings,  that  he  was 
moved  to  sing  its  praise  in  these  exquisite  lines: 

There's  a  spot  among  the  Rockies, 

In  Colorado's  wilds, 
Where  the  breezes  whisper  music 

And  the  midday  sunlight  smiles, 
Where  the  mountains  like  grim  wardens 

Keep  watch  both  night  and  day 
Where  nature's  hand  has  placed  them 

The  guardians  of  Ouray. 

Do  you  journey  thro'  the  canons, 

Twixt  high  and  rocky  walls, 
And  listen  to  the  murmur 

Of  busy  waterfalls? 
Are  you  seeking  health  or  pleasure 

'Mid  the  mountains  old  and  gray? 
You'll  find  the  yearned-for  treasure 

In  picturesque  Ouray. 
193 


IN   THK   SAN  JUAN 

Do  nature's  pictures  tire 

And  the  murmuring  of  the  rills, 
Do  you  long  for  something  hcmelike 

Amid  the  towering  hills? 
Seek  ye  a  place  to  rest  in 

Where  gentle  calm  holds  sway 
To  soothe  the  weary  spirit? 

You'll  find  it  in  Ouray. 


FINIS. 


194 


^P  ::Aj  %.  >•**  .  -3?  II 


ill 


m 


s  -V  / 


